


Toy Soldier

by shieldbearer



Category: Avengers (Marvel), Hawkeye (Marvel) - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abduction, Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brainwashing, Cap and Tony are constantly bickering like little kids, Chains, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton-centric, Clint needs to be saved, Deaf Clint Barton, Easter Eggs to a couple of roles of Jeremy Renner, Emotional Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Forgiving, Hawkeye Comics - Freeform, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Kidnapping, Language, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Near Death Experiences, Non-Consensual Cuddling, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Pain, Poor Clint, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, The Avengers Are Good Bros, To Be Continued, Whump, crazy female Hydra leader, dubcon, i'm sorry clint, worried Natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:03:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 75,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9131572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldbearer/pseuds/shieldbearer
Summary: „Really? I retired for, what, like five minutes? And it all goes shit.” – HawkeyeClint just retired his job as an Avenger for a very good reason, which he tries to keep secret from his friends. However, things aren’t turning out too well when he gets abducted. In captivity he has to trouble with a crazy Hydra-agent, his secret, and a difficult decision – he has to choose between his own health and the sake of his friends. Does he care more about himself? Can he betray his former team members? Or does he rather give up himself? How will he decide? And is he able to decide at all or is someone else playing his puppeteer?“He had always been convinced that getting his mind pulled out and something else stuffed in would be the worst scenario that could happen, but he wasn’t so sure about that anymore.”





	1. Bad

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there :)  
> I’m happy you decided to give my FF a go.
> 
> This story contains a Hawkeye, who is orientated on the one of the MCU as well as on comics (mainly from Matt Fraction, but some others as well). So I’ve mixed their characters, their attitudes and background stories. In the end, a kind of “new” Hawkeye was the result.  
> Don’t worry, you don’t need to know the comics. For all of you, who haven’t read the comics yet: be warned: spoilers alert (as a logical result of referring to them and also from time to time quoting them) The same, of course, counts for the movies.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> I don’t own the characters. It is a work of fiction and any similarity to reality is a dreadful accident (well that’s why it’s called fanFICTION, I guess.. ;) )
> 
> This is my first FF I’ve ever written and English is not my mother tongue. So I’m sorry if there are mistakes, although I’ll do my best to avoid them. 
> 
> Oh, and for everyone who has a problem with “Language” like Cap has, I’m sorry, but this is a Hawkeye story, so there definitely will be cursed a lot ;)
> 
> And now enough with the spiel: enjoy! :)

Chapter 1

Okay, this looked bad. And if Clint said “This looks bad” it was usually even worse. He was in the shower, not knowing how long he actually already stood there, trying to develop a straight thought. However, no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t. All he got was a terrible headache. Although complete darkness surrounded him, a sudden flash behind his eyes made him wince, groan and press his trembling fingers against his temples. Normally, he would have cursed a lot in such a situation. For a brief moment, a hint of a crooked smile crossed his face by the thought about one of his team members and his averseness to strong language or “letting out his pure emotions” as he, Clint, preferred to call it. Well, actually that was a lie. If he was honest, he did it to cover his true feelings: fear, weakness.. and okay, in the end, he was a little jerk who loved cursing and cracking rude jokes, too. But it was different this time. He felt way too weak and numb. When they had stripped and shoved him into the shower, he didn’t even try to struggle, not to mention to fight these goons tooth and nail, like he usually would have done.

Between the hot water dripped blood down his face, slowly tinging the water red and staining the bottom of the shower stall. Suddenly, his knees gave in and made him hit the ground painfully.

 

When he finally regained consciousness, he found himself hunched down in the shower with the water still running. It was hard to breathe because of the hot steam. Nevertheless, Clint shivered freezing. Once more, he groaned in pain. Damn, his head was aching even more now, but he didn’t really care. The hit was like a clarion call and brought back his fighting spirit. He still felt a little dizzy, but not as worse as before, and he knew he had to get up and get somehow out of there. Well, in his mind that sounded easy. In reality, however… he scowled. He definitely wouldn’t be here if he had some kind of super-strength or Thor’s hammer. Yeah, with Mjolnir he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit, and he still was convinced that it was just a trick, no matter what the Norse god said. Flexing all his muscles, he managed to get on his right foot – his left knee still on the ground. Clint took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and made the attempt to stand up with the support of one of the walls. Unfortunately, it was too slippery, and he fell back to the ground. “Dammit!”, he cursed silently. Once again, he used all his strength he got left, and this time he made it, leaning now, with wobbly legs and panting heavily, against the cold flagging in one of the corners of the shower. He grinned. They might have beaten and drugged him, but he still was in control. More or less.. His balance problems surely only were caused by the hit he got against his head. He could deal with that. Apparently, the drugs weren’t strong enough to knock him out completely. That was what counted. Clint guessed that the people who did this to him had underestimated him and had not given him the full dose. Big mistake! Despite having no idea how to get away, he didn’t really worry. He never did, as he simply refused to lose and with this attitude, somehow, he always managed to save his sorry ass, so why not this time again? To be honest, Clint also considered the thought to cogitate about the other option - that he wouldn’t make it - not as very appealing and decided not to waste his energy on that.

Again, he shivered and fought against his drowsiness. “You can have a nap later, idiot”, he chided himself to stay awake. Later on, he would never admit it, but getting up from the shower floor had been one of the most exhausting things he’d ever done. And what if he actually was exposed to serious drugs? What if the effect was stronger than he had thought on the first sight? For a moment he tried to guess what kind of medicine they might have given him, but all he knew was that it was a transparent liquid, which could be anything. What if his abductors had administered him a full dose and it only took its time to reveal its power in his system, and his clumsiness was only a foreshadow of what would follow? After all, he was a trained S.H.I.E.L.D.-agent, a very sturdy guy who was used to get the shit beaten out of him and never reacted that weak.

“I’m getting too old for this shit.” Mumbling that, Clint displaced his worries and focused on all the information he had about his abductors. Which was almost nothing. “Great!” he muttered sarcastically. Neither did he know who they were nor what they wanted from him. But in the end, he didn’t really care to find it out. He’d rather needed an exit strategy now. His imprisoners could come and get him every second. Gosh, if he only knew how long he already stayed under the shower so he could guess how much time he had left to prepare to fight and escape. He was quite certain that he had stood there only one minute, maybe two when he had collapsed. But how long had he been out cold? A second? Minutes? Hours? Nah, not hours. But he couldn’t be sure hundred percent. Maybe these guys simply didn’t care and let him lay there abandoned to his fate. He snorted. That couldn’t be it. Why should someone make an effort to capture him alive and then let him die in a shower? He raised a brow. Sometimes he couldn’t help but consider himself as stupid. “No one dies ‘cause of some freakin’ water, Barton. Stop with this nonsense, you dummy.” No, showering him to death didn’t make any sense at all. A wave of pain ran through his body, interrupting his weird train of thoughts and made him use a lot of strength and willpower not to get on his knees again. Thinking about how long he already was here wouldn’t lead to anything helpful. No doubt, they wanted something particular from him, and whatever it was, he was not willing to give it.

If only they had left him his beloved bow and arrows. At least one. He huffed and knew his mind had done it again and made him think things only a dork would contemplate. But he couldn’t help it. The thought of “them” touching his love, his customized Hoyt Gamemaster II recurve bow, and maybe damage or even break it made him angry. Of course, he had a couple of other recurve as well as compound bows, but that wasn’t the point. His bows were his babies, and he watched over them like a hawk mother would do over her chicks. Without his gear, he felt uncomfortable and naked. That he right now technically was naked, was only the cherry on top. They didn’t leave him anything, took away everything he had. Nothing personal was left. He hated this situation and the fact that it was so dark that he couldn’t see his own hands in front of his eyes. His eyes were his strength and his weak point as well. When he couldn’t see anything, he felt somehow lost. Lost and helpless.. A tear rolled down his left cheek and disappeared along with the water from the shower in the sink. Another tear appeared in his eye and Clint wiped it away disquietingly. What the hell was going on? He hardly could remember the last time he cried, and now he behaved like a little girl and not like the greatest sharpshooter known to man. His own behavior made him even more anxious, and he swore to himself, if ever he would get out of here, he never would tell anyone about it. If ever…

Suddenly, in harsh contrast to his former unconcerned “I don’t care”-attitude, he started to worry about his escape possibilities and hushed them away by imagining how his team would react, if they could see him like this. Tony would never stop picking on him, and without fail, Thor would join in. “Awesome!” Clint was really pissed now. He could envision perfectly how the rest of the team would worry about him. Natasha might even be angry why he let himself be brainwashed again and… whoa, wait! Brainwashed?! Something in his mind tried to reach the surface. Something that had happened recently. Though he put a lot of effort into figuring it out, he couldn’t remember what happened. But if he was right, with being brainwashed, this didn’t only look bad. This actually _was_ really bad.

The Avenger soaked in some air, managed to keep his countenance for a couple of more seconds before he let loose. Let loose and screamed in frustration and sorrow. He simply didn’t want to go another time through hell. He couldn’t. Being unmade was one of his greatest fears, and here he was facing it again. But he wasn’t ready yet; he still had issues from the last time when Loki.. Falling to the ground, exhausted by all the different feelings he went through during the short time since he was in the shower, he wished with all his heart that these guys had killed him instead of bringing him here and messing with his brain.

 


	2. Don’t step out that door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there :) So you’ve made it to the second chapter; I guess that’s a good sign ;)  
> I really don’t want to be annoying but if you have the feeling “hey I like that” while reading, please leave kudos or a comment. It’s not much work for you but it really makes my day :) It also doesn’t matter how much time already has passed since I’ve posted the chapters – feedback is always more than welcome.

Chapter 2

_-Previously…_

It was in the aftermath of the battle against Ultron, when Clint approached his team, a serious expression on his face. What he was going to break to his team-mates now wasn’t easy for him. Not only what he had to tell them, but also the way he wanted to let them know that he was going to retire his job as an Avenger. Actually, he would have preferred to simply put his resignation on the table of Captain America or Director Phil Coulson. However, after all, they went through, he couldn’t simply disappear without saying goodbye. Who knew if they would ever meet again? Although he hoped so, he realized at the same time that this was impossible when he wanted to keep his secret safe from the sharp minds of his colleagues - soon to be former colleagues. He heaved a sigh. He had to do it now, or the right moment would be gone. “Okay Clint, you can do this,” he tried to reassure himself and took a step into the room, in which all of the Avengers gathered. They were chattering eagerly with each other, but Clint couldn’t understand a word. So he cleared his throat and waited till everyone paid him attention. When he spoke, he spoke quick and stumbled over a couple of words. He saw the disbelieving expressions, which appeared on his mates’ faces, when he told them, that he needed a rest from all the action; that he was getting too old for being a guy fighting an army of aliens or robots with only a bow and arrows. He explained that he needed time for his own, and as he wanted to start a new life without superheroes, he wouldn’t come back to the Avengers Tower ever again. That was the moment when Steve shot him a scrutinizing look. Clint knew exactly why. The Avengers were not only his team members but also his family. The only one he got. He might leave the group for awhile, but not forever like he just had stated. Everyone knew how much Clint loved his job, and that he dedicated his whole life to protect the innocent and work as an Avenger. Tony tried to save the situation and make it easy for his ally to retract his decision by cracking a joke: “Clint, if you don’t step out that door, you’re an Avenger. It’s so easy to stay..” Before anyone else could object, fire questions at him, or react in another way, Clint turned around and left the room as fast as possible, not hearing the agitated voices of Natasha, Bruce, Tony, Steve, and Vision. Didn’t hear Cap’s astounded “Well I never thought that he actually is such a maverick. He is a lone wolf, yes, but he always comes back to this pack..” Normally, Tony would have laughed about Steve’s way of expressing something. This time, however, he stood there in silence with an open mouth, looking like he couldn’t process what was going on. And not many people could pride themselves to have dumbfounded Iron Man.

Clint forced himself to stroll down the corridor in a normal pace. Once around the corner, he started to walk faster. Finally, he ran and soon left the former Stark Tower behind him. After a while, he turned around and took one last look at the impressive building. The tower disappeared slowly from his sight, the thoughts about his family he had lost through his actions, however, stayed. Although he had said to his friends that they could visit him any time in his small apartment, which he had in Brooklyn, Bed-Stuy, and which he till today only had used as a shelter whenever he felt to be alone, he didn’t mean it, and he was quite certain that the others had realized that. His face darkened, and deep furrows showed on his forehead. He would steer clear of these people. - Would always be unachievable. Not that he wanted to behave like that, but he had no other option.

Clint felt anger rise inside him. Only one darned moment had ruined his life and took its toll on him. If only he had paid more attention. Didn’t let the other guy come so close to let him mess with his head..

He reached the building he lived in, went upstairs, entered his apartment, and sank into an old couch, burying his face in his hands. Hushed steps came closer, but Clint didn’t look up before something wet and cold nudged against his knee. A genuine smile crossed his unhappy face, and he cuddled the dog in front of him. “At least I still have you,” he whispered in its fur. He kind of had saved the dog from the mafia, and the dog had saved his life as well, since then, and since he had fed him some pizza, which wasn’t that good anyway, they were friends. Clint found out that the dog’s name originally had been “Arrow”, but somehow wasn’t really keen on keeping that name, and changed it to Lucky. However, he often also called him “Pizza Dog” because of the dog's love for pizza. Who could blame the quadruped? Pizza was simply the best foodstuff next to coffee. For a while, he searched his kitchen and finally looked satisfied at what he had found: half of a pizza and a cup of cold coffee. These were the remains of yesterday when he had brought secretly all his stuff which he had had in his room in the Avengers Tower to his new permanent home. He didn’t bother to reheat the pizza nor the coffee. Followed by Lucky, who got wind of his favorite meal, he slumped down once more on his sofa and switched on the TV, which seemed compared to the modern ones, which Stark provided in the Tower, almost ancient. The TV didn’t only look old: the television picture was – fuzzy as it was – as well nothing like he was used from Tony’s technique, but who cared. Clint didn’t. It was good enough for him.

He spent the next days doing exactly the same thing: Watching TV, drinking coffee and eating lots of pizza and sandwiches. Soon afterward, he fell – despite the definitely unhealthy amount of the brown brew - asleep with Lucky on his lap and didn’t wake up until the sun was already high in the sky. Except for the one time his phone rang early in the morning, and his pet made him aware of that.


	3. Oh, those feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy Renner once said: “When I was growing up, I wasn’t taught how to feel or communicate feelings” – well let’s have a look what Hawkeye has to say about that topic..

Chapter 3

_-present_

Slowly the archer quietened down, and only sobbed slightly from time to time. Letting out all the feelings, which had been bottled up deep inside him for such a long period, turned out as a great relief. Natasha always had urged him to undergo therapy to make peace with his past. But that wasn’t that easy. As a child, when he regularly had been beaten by his abusive alcohol-addicted dad and later on lived in an orphanage till he ran away, he had learned to contain his feelings and don’t let them show. He didn’t give himself the permission to feel things like sadness or insecurity, for example by simply not letting himself cry. More and more, he withdrew from the rest of the world and became the quiet, serious man most people knew him as. Sometimes, however, he flipped his personality 180 degrees and turned from the tight-lipped tough marksman into a chaotic chatterbox with a pouty mouth. That sudden change of his attitude hit everyone by surprise who didn’t know him long enough. Actually, he couldn’t explain himself why and when one of his sides appeared or made place for the other. Just seldom, he picked one of those attitudes deliberately. In the end, both options of him just were masks, different ways of protecting himself from being hurt again. His true nature lay somewhere in between those two extremes, but he had lost it. - Had unlearned how to show his real feelings, and actually felt quite comfortable in his role as someone with an unreadable, unpredictable personality. So why should he change anything, and risk being devastated by all those feeling he couldn’t handle? Clint couldn’t and also didn’t want to talk to someone about his messed up life. Thor and the other guys never would go and see a psychologist, and they also went through frightening issues. So if he went to a headshrinker, everyone would consider him as even smaller and insignificant between all the geniuses, the God, and the super soldier. Clint was so fed up with being belittled, and although he loved his alternate family, he never could get rid of his insecurity about his place in the team completely. Of course, he had a high skill set, but after all, he still was just a simple man without special super powers like flying, increased superhuman strength and what not.

Once, he even overheard people talking about him in a café, and he didn’t like it, as they were saying that he wasn’t quite as tough. Back then, he jumped up from his chair, accidently knocked over his coffee and yelled at them that he had powers, too, and that he could do more than just archery. His appearance, however, didn’t have the effect he had hoped to have. The way he was standing there with a red flushed head, and coffee spilled all over his trousers simply didn’t look impressive. And so the men only laughed at him and went on mocking him that if he really was such an “important” Avenger like he had said, why they hadn’t even noticed him despite him sitting directly at the table next to them. This incident burned into Clint’s brain. The first times such occurrences happened, he didn’t give a shit about it, but if you hear such things again and again over years, you sooner or later start to believe and suffer from it. Clint wasn’t an exception and was afflicted by self-doubt. What happened in the café had only been the straw that broke the camel’s back, and since then he always warned him to remember his decision he had actually already taken as a little boy: to stand his ground and to not show the slightest hint of weakness or vulnerability. In his opinion, these feelings were quite human ones, and he persuaded himself that if he didn't show them anymore, people would see in him the same they saw in his team-mates: heroes – or at least very powerful people. Not that he wanted to be that. He also didn’t long for being famous. All he wanted was to be accepted. So that’s why he strictly refused to consult a doctor and pretended like everything was fine. Unfortunately, this lifestyle took its toll because, in the end, it was always the own heart which revealed the truth. Clint learned that on the hard way. He realized that he could betray the world and even himself for a while, but that wouldn’t work forever. Inside he felt how he became a danger to himself; slowly destroying himself piece by piece, replacing his true nature with different versions, which looked good and received recognition, but were everything but him. At first, he thought that this would be the solution of all his problems and that he simply could run away from his real feelings, but soon had to admit that his feelings simply followed him, no matter where he went. He couldn’t hide. They always would find him. So he had to keep running. But could he really run all his life?

Clint felt empty and ran his fingers through his wet hair. Instead of standing up again, he leaned back against the wall and cross-legged his feet. With the emotional storm inside him easing off, he was able to think clear. How did it all start? He remembered a phone call about two weeks after he had retired:

_Lucky jumped up in front of him, wagged its tail, and blew its hot stinking breath directly in Clint’s face. “Uh, Lucky stop it, that’s disgusting!” The athletic man covered his face with one arm, moaned and turned away from the dog, facing now the backrest of his shabby sofa. Not giving in that easily, Lucky sank its teeth carefully into Clint’s leg. It didn’t injure the light brown haired man seriously. However, the bite was strong enough to drag him on his feet and to the old cable phone which was attached on one of the room’s walls._

Automatically, Clint’s hands found their way to the part of his body where Lucky had “grabbed” him. His from shooting arrows callused fingers ran softly over the little scratches, which were the result of his dog’s way to make him aware that the phone had been ringing. A warm feeling spread out from his heart, and a fond expression appeared on his face.

_“Awww phone”, he stated disapprovingly. He wanted to sleep and hoped none of the Avengers would be on the other line. Finally picking up the phone anyways, he only asked: “Yes?” He could hear a nervous voice of a woman, begging him for help. Stifling a yawn, he mumbled something like: “Sorry Ma’am, I retired, try it somewhere else” and already wanted to hang up. His state of mind today could be best described as “Today sucks. I’m going back to bed”, and he really wasn’t in the mood to care about someone else’s business. He wouldn’t even have answered the call, if Lucky hadn’t have insisted on it, sitting close to his feet staring at him, till he had taken the receiver. A bloodcurdling scream let him freeze and made him wide awake. Suddenly, Clint’s sleepiness was blown away, and his Samaritan side kicked in. Jumping on one leg, he tried to put on his black trousers, which lay exactly there where he had tossed them carelessly on the ground a couple of hours ago. At the same time, he searched for his shoes, or better said, he searched for one shoe. The left one was where it should be, just the other one.. Gosh, he couldn’t explain it to himself but somehow the right one was always missing. Sometimes he had the suspicion someone sneaked into his apartment to steal all his right shoes just to annoy him. But in the end, the only logical explanation was his untidiness or Lucky who had his fun with it. Finally finding it, he slipped into it while he still tried to pull up his trousers. With the other hand, he grabbed his bow and quiver, ran out of the door, almost stumbled because his pants still hadn’t found their way up completely, turned back and searched hastily for his black and purple tank top. But he could find neither it nor the black maroon action costume. So a simple worn-out T-shirt had to do it if he didn’t want to leave the house shirtless like he almost accidently just had done.. Fortunately, he had been, as he often used to be, too lazy to put off his arm guard before going to sleep, but he missed his finger tabs, for which he, however, didn’t want to waste time to look for them. Again, he hurried down the stairs and reached the address the woman had mentioned on the phone within a couple of minutes. Hawkeye didn’t rest to catch his breath and jumped immediately through an open window inside the house. There was no need to sneak up. The intruders seemed to have already caused harm to the poor lady, so every second counted._

Bitterness replaced the tender feeling, and Clint spat on the floor. Yes, there had been intruders in the house, but they hadn’t come for the woman. They had waited for him. It had been a trap. The call had been only a fake to lure him to the abandoned house. Carefully, he examined the wound, which was the result of a strong undamped hit with a blackjack. As far as he could palpate, a laceration was on the back of his head and would actually need some stitches.

_Dazed he searched for his dagger, which he used for close combats to ram it into his opponent, who was too close to shoot him with an arrow, and cursed himself when he realized that he only wore jogging pants and purple Chucks instead of his combat trousers and boots which normally completed his BDU and contained useful stuff like daggers. So all his helpful gear was somewhere far away in his place. Great! Damn his untidiness. Instinctively, Hawkeye raised up his arms. Too late. He was hit with brass knuckles forcefully at his solar plexus. All the air was pumped out of his lungs, and he collapsed to the ground._

Clint remembered lying there. Remembered, how he had gasped for air, how his head spun, and that his bow had been out of reach. Still, he had tried to get one of his arrows out of his quiver, but a man had kicked him in the stomach, followed by some other kicks against his temple, till he had passed out. Envisioning that moment, Clint pressed his hands against his now again hurting stomach. Bile raised, and he had to retch. Apparently, the drugs wore off, so the good news was that he could think straight again and remembered everything. At the same time, the bad news was that he remembered everything. And with that, all the pain came back and hit him like a truck.


	4. Quit your job, kill your family

Chapter 4

_-two hours ago_

Eyes fluttering, Hawkeye awoke. For a second he was dizzy and disorientated. The bottom under his feet vibrated lightly and seemed to sag, but stabilized immediately. He knew that feeling very well as he was himself a pilot and always flew the Quinjet of the Avengers when they needed to get somewhere in order to save the world.

Opening his eyes completely, he saw his assumption was right. The goons, who had overwhelmed him, had brought him on a plane, handcuffed his hands on his back and strapped him up to a seat tightly. Ouch, that really was an uncomfortable posture, and he would have given a lot if he could massage his tensed shoulder blades as well as his wrists, in which the metal handcuffs dug in deeply, abrading his skin. The cuffs felt very solid, not like the one ordinary police officers were featured with, and which he was able to open easily within seconds. He had trained with the almost not unlockable cuffs S.H.I.E.L.D. used, and although these were slightly different to the once which restrained him right now, he tried to use his knowledge to benefit from it.

Hawkeye didn’t get far. A hand laid down on his shoulder heavily. He looked up. A man stood in front of him, smiling mischievously. “Ah, finally you’re awake.” “Sorry, but I take my beauty sleep very seriously, y’know?” teased Clint his opponent. That wasn’t really an inventive way to answer, but it was the first thing to cross his mind, and he loved to annoy the bad guys with continuous jabber, which made clear that he didn’t take the whole situation seriously. His provocations often worked, and besides of being a lot of fun, it caused mistakes by his combatants because they were distracted, or only saw a moron in him and not a serious threat. And if such a mistake happened, he knew how to use it for his effort.

This time, however, he wasn’t that lucky. “Oh really?” The heavily built man, who had spoken to him with a thick German accent, grabbed Clint’s hair, dragged his head in one fluent motion back so that his throat was exposed. Intimidatingly, the man came closer to Clint’s face, and the archer saw the pockmarked skin and dark circles around the man’s eyes. For a moment, he bit his lips, but couldn’t help it and blurted out: “Yeah, you should give it a try. I mean, without doubt, it would do you good.” The man’s face went even more daunting when he knit his brows. Clint realized in which unjoyous situation he had just brought himself by being lippy, smiled innocently and opened his mouth once again in an effort to ease the situation a little bit. Well, ‘ease’ was relative. He surely would have made it even worse with his sass, but the beefcake was quicker anyway. With his free hand, he covered Clint’s mouth. The smaller man squirmed under this grip, but couldn’t get away, and said in disgust: “Eew man, have you washed your hands after going to toilet?” Though his voice was muffled by the hand on his mouth, and everything that was hearable was “hmm mm hm”. “Sleep well, my little beauty queen. When you are awake again, you will know how to follow orders and stop behaving like a dork,” whispered the guy so close to Clint’s ear that he could feel the breath on his skin. Before he was able to react, the German rammed a syringe into his still tilted back neck.

* * *

 

Something pointy hit between his ribs and afterward against his hip bone. Agonized, Clint groaned loudly. He lay on a concrete floor with his hands still twisted on his back. From his angle, he noticed at the last moment that the “pointy” thing was actually the metal tip of a combat boot, which now went for a precise kick in his face, and surely would have broken his nose if he hadn’t managed to roll away. Obviously, he wasn’t on the plane anymore, which meant that he didn’t know where he was right now, which would, later on, make his escape more difficult. Great..

The darkly dressed man, who was not the same one Clint had seen on the Quinjet, stopped his attack on him when he realized he was awake. “Next time the smell of a cup of coffee will do,” huffed Clint “But thanks for waking me up anyway.” Being dragged on his knees, he used the opportunity to have a look around. He was in a rather small room with concrete walls without windows, but still, there was just a bad lightening. The ceiling was quite low and caused together with the thick walls an oppressive impression. The air was stale. Was this the room of a bunker? Although the walls seemed to be rather old, the furniture was extremely modern and didn’t stand back in anything compared to a S.H.I.E.L.D. base. A lot of high-tech stuff Clint had never seen before was stored here as well as some items, which looked suspiciously like Chitauri stuff. He lifted his head slightly to get a better sight at his guards. Finally, he found what he was searching for: the logo of Hydra. Well, that sucked. He had retired. Had cut all the ropes to the Avengers initiative and S.H.I.E.L.D., but instead of doing a DVD-marathon on his couch, he let himself be abducted by his archenemies. “Well done,” he applauded himself sarcastically in his thoughts.

A harsh voice of a woman made him stop feeling sorry for himself. Straightening his back up as well as he could, he looked up to sneak a peek at her. She was slim and rangy with very long legs, which ended to Clint’s surprise in red patent leather high heels. Seriously? Wearing high heels as a Hydra agent in a bunker? Well, apparently the woman had the commando. At least all the men looked at her with respect, and yes, Clint could even sense fear. So she definitely left the dirty work to others but never lost control over it.

If the situation wouldn’t have been so bad for him, he would have laughed out loud. It really was a sight for the gods how this muscle-packed and highly trained men groveled before the dainty woman. On the other side, Clint could understand them, as the woman had a severe glance which easily could be titled as “death stare”, and it definitely was not comparable to his grumpy expression, which he defended as his “resting face”, always making clear that this wasn’t a death stare, although it looked like he wanted to murder someone. Aside from her grim look, Clint had to admit that she was a real beauty, but at the same time her cold aura ruined everything and made her in his eyes somehow unattractive.

The archer decided that it was better not to act the fool in front of her, and thought it was rather wise to show his untouchable, invulnerable side instead. “What do you want from me?” His voice was as cool as the woman’s was, and he shot her a fierce look. Unexpectedly, that caused the woman only a malicious laugh, and Clint saw out of the corner of his eyes how the men shifted uneasily. The boss, as Clint titled the woman - because she obviously was - seemed to be very powerful. Otherwise, Clint couldn’t explain the behavior of the guards. At least, he was the prisoner and should fear what would happen next, and not the Hydra agents, who worked together with her. For a moment, he was in a brown study whether he should rather call her the “evil angel” instead of “boss” which would be fancier, and surely would sound great when he later would tell people about his adventure..

“You are here because we need someone who gives us access to the Avengers Tower.” “Sorry, I’ve retired and..,” cut Clint the woman off. Angry about the interruption, the woman continued without being responsive to his interjection: “We need someone who has the trust of Vision. You..” The boss pointed at Clint “you have it. And you are a thief, what could come in quite handy.” Angrily, the archer gainsaid: “I’m not!” “Oh, don’t pretend you aren’t. I know about your past.” “Barney..” The woman interrupted him with sharp voice: “Don’t put the blame on your older brother!” “Barney and I had to survive somehow. That’s a difference,” tried Clint, who got more and more mad, to justify his criminal history. “No, it’s not. This case is exactly the same: Your life depends on it. So you will help us catch Vision.” The thus addressed laughed cheerlessly. “Why the hell you think I would do that? Just because you threaten my life? Forget it. There’s no way I’m goin’ to betray my friends.” “Oh, you will.” “I will?”, echoed Clint with one brow raised up doubtingly. Just because he quit his job, it didn’t mean he was up to kill his family. Because that was what Hydra certainly would do if he turned in Vision. Unperturbed, the woman continued: “Yes! Because you are the most vulnerable member of the Avengers.” Clint pouted and complained: “Man that sucks. Why do people keep saying that? I’m not vulnerable!” The woman, who seemed to be fed up with being interrupted, gave a sign and out of nowhere one of the agents suddenly shoved an old rag in the mouth of the kneeling man so that he wasn’t able to speak anymore. The taste of filth, lacquer and motor oil in his mouth was disgusting. Clint gagged but soon got his reflex under control by concentrating on breathing in deeply through his nose.

The emotionless voice continued: “We are aware that it’s not possible to simply catch Vision, who has something which is of very high interest for us.” Clint knew she referred to the Mind Stone in Visions forehead. “..so we need someone who can help us with that, and we are convinced that you are the right one to do it. It was so easy to abduct you. Do you think that would have been possible with Iron Man, Hulk or Thor? No, of course not!” The woman uttered a short mean laugh. “Even the girls wouldn’t have been that easy to kidnap as you were. And they definitely wouldn’t let themselves be broken..” The woman made a dramatic pause and added: “..as you soon will be.”

An icy fist clenched around Clint’s heart. His friends always tried to convince him that he was a valuable member of the team and that they needed him. But deep inside, he always had known that this wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. He was just a tolerated archer. Nothing more. He wasn’t as super as they were. Moreover, who needed an archer between all those people with superpowers and stunning high-tech? Exactly: no one. He really was superfluous.

Looking down to the ground, he made an attempt to hide his sad eyes from the woman. He didn’t want her to be able to see that she was right and because her words had hit him at a weak point so hard that he didn’t have the strength to shot her a dismissive look, he preferred to hide his face. However, this wasn’t his main problem right now. The boss said he would be broken soon, and that could only mean one thing: they would torture him till he turned on his own friends. Of course, he had been in such situations before and had dealt with it on his own without problems. But somehow he had the bad feeling that he wouldn't make it out on his own this time. And yes, although he didn't like to admit it, he actually had had that kind of problem - that he needed help - before as well, but this time definitely no one would come and save him last minute, and he also wouldn’t be able to pretend later on that he had had the situation completely under control and wouldn’t have needed help. So no matter how this would end, it wouldn’t be a happy end. It was either him or his friends who would lose. There was no other option than that one of them died. The question was only ‘who’?

As if the speech of the “asshole of the year”, as Clint preferred to call her now, wouldn’t already have been enough, the woman reached suddenly in the pocket of her expensive looking business suit and held up something tiny. Clint squeezed his eyes. Actually, the object wasn’t that midget, so under normal conditions Clint with his exceptional vision would have spotted what it was easily, but at the moment his sight was still blurred slightly from the liquid they had given him, and his angle of vision on the floor was also not helpful to see what the woman held in her palm. Finally, he recognized a purple colored, semi-circled piece of technique. His eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. He knew exactly what the assh.. sorry the woman held in her hands with a smile on her lips that made clear that she knew that she had the drop on him. It belonged to him. Somehow in all the trouble he hadn’t recognized that he had lost it. Of course, he had noticed a difference but held his (thanks to the rather rough handling of the Hydra agents) current bad state of health responsible for it. His heart pounded. He knew that his nemesis would have gained cognizance of it sooner or later anyways, but had hoped that they wouldn’t pay attention to it. Well, this hope has just been crushed cruelly.. Clint’s mouth went dry, and he had to clear his throat before he was able to rasp: “Give it back to me.”


	5. Read my lips

Chapter 5

„Give it back to me“ The boss saw her captive swallow and fight to retain his composure. He stared at the little piece she held between her fingers, and she enjoyed his glance, which changed rapidly from disbelieve to anger and back to disbelieve again. Finally, the archer’s face displayed a neutral expression, but the woman could see insecurity flickering in his eyes. For an elusive moment, she felt pity for her victim. The way he knelt in front of her and tried to pretend like he still was in control of the situation.. Like he still could give orders and wouldn’t mind at all. Quickly, she suppressed this feeling. She hadn’t made it that far due to compassion. As someone who held a high position within Hydra, she always had to work with a lucid mind, and not let it be clouded by feelings. Feelings were powerful and dangerous and could ruin everything, which in her case could cost her life. No, she really had no use for sentiment. Still, she allowed herself to admire the sight of Hawkeye for a short moment. Without a doubt, he was a handsome man, strongly built with deep, fathomless eyes. They were the most outstanding detail of the archer. Hard and determined. Sad and lonely. An interesting mixture. Though they looked a little bit too old for a man his age, like he had seen too many things he better shouldn’t have seen, and his impish facial features, as well as his smile wrinkles, mingled with deep worry lines.

“Concentration,” the woman admonished herself and put on a sardonic look to hide her thoughts. “Well, well what do we have here? Do your comrades know about it? No, certainly not. Otherwise, they would have dismissed you immediately, right?” She came closer to Clint who stared back furiously. The boss laughed because she could see how much willpower it cost him to keep up his straight facade. She continued in honeyed tones, which even in her ears sounded wrong given to such an – at least for her captive - unpleasant situation: “I know you want it back, sweetheart.” The last word slipped accidently, and she took a quick look to her inferiors. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to realize a change of the feelings of their leader, and only leered like they were enjoying how she teased and humiliated the helpless archer. Relieved she proceeded. “..but it wouldn’t make any sense ‘cause your device has been damaged during the ‘incident’ in the house.” Apparently, she had a thing for dramatic pauses, as she made one again. “As well as the one you still have will soon be.” Shocked and unhappy eyes rested on her. The woman started to enjoy it. Obviously, she had a sadistic attitude and considered the reaction of Clint as incredibly cute. She knew that the average of people would consider it as anything but cute, but who cared about other peoples’ opinions?

With swift steps, she went even closer to the kidnappee, who flinched when she put forth her hand. For a moment she stopped dead in her tracks, her hand still hovering in the air. The reaction of the man down to her feet had caught her by surprise, and if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it.

The archer lost his mask of hardness, which he had perfected over so many years, managed to finally spit out the rag and pleaded. Yes, you read that right, he pleaded. “No, don’t do that.” In a low voice, he added: “Please.” His insecurity was audible. The shoulders of the man were slumped, and he barely lifted his head when he looked up at her with big eyes. His beseeching expression made the woman’s heart jump, but she didn’t give in and still held her hand in the air. For a second, she had the notion that Clint had regretted the plea as soon as it came out of his mouth, and right, it seemed like he had a hope-giving idea. To her disappointment, he had himself under control again, when he squared his shoulders and started to speak with a firm voice, which contained a hint of deceitfulness that stood in an extreme contrast to the pleading tone a second ago: “Without the device, I won’t be able to follow your orders. You have no other option than to leave it to me if you ever want to accomplish your plan, which is by the way utterly stupid! I never..” Authoritatively, the woman interrupted him: “Do I seriously have you to remember the one time, when Dr. Lusk turned you into a human drone only with the help of bright lights? How you ran around like an idiot ‘Mine eyes have seen the glory. I’m a patriot. His truth is marching on’” She imitated the Hawks voice and gloated over his misfortune. “Or the time, when Loki subdued you only with the touch of a scepter? You see, there are enough possibilities to keep you under control without you being able to hear something. Our research department also had some excellent ideas concerning this matter..” As if by itself, a vial with a liquid, which Hawkeye already knew from getting injected on the Quinjet, wandered into her hands. Skillfully, she let it glide a couple of times through her fingers before packing it away into her pocket. “Read my lips, Hawkeye!” With one fluid motion, she reached for Clint’s right ear, snatched his purple hearing aid, tossed it to the ground, and smashed it with the heel of one of her shoes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this chap is rather short, I’ve decided to post chap 6 today as well :)
> 
> Do you like it so far? Really would be happy about some comments :)


	6. Bad II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: major spoilers of various Hawkeye comics (Actually there are everywhere spoilers from time to time (as I’ve already warned you right at the beginning), but in this chapter especially.. though I’ve changed the timeline a little bit, so it fits in better..)

Chapter 6

The last seconds passed by like in slow motion. Inevitably, the foot of the woman closed in on his little helper, till it smashed it, and only thousands of tiny fragments and a stunned Clint were left. The woman didn’t bother to waste her time with him any longer and talked to a Hydra guard. Although Clint indeed was able to read lips, he couldn’t understand what the lady was saying, as she stood with her back to him, and the Hydra soldier only nodded from time to time.

He felt how anger and sadness raised inside him and mixed to a weird feeling in his stomach. A lump built in his throat. He had already deafened temporarily when he had been a child thanks to his “awesome” dad. After going through that tough time, he had been happy about every single tone he could notice, no matter how annoying it actually was. A shrill siren had sounded as beautiful to him as a sinfonia. Never would he have come up with the idea, that one day he’d give up the wonder of this kind of sensation by choice. But he did.

Bringing back these memories, he smiled gently. Being together with his ex-wife Mockingbird captured by Crossfire, who had invented a machine which made people go insane and kill everything around them, there had been only one way to stop beating the shit out of each other. And he had done it without hesitation. Quickly, he had slipped one of his self-invented trick arrows in his mouth. It had been the one with the sonic arrowhead, which was able to nullify the effects of the machine. They lived, but to what price? It had blasted out his eardrums.

Instead of getting into a negative mood, Clint smiled even more. Back then, he and Bobbi had almost killed each other because of a lunatic with a crazy machine. Short after it, they had tried to smash their heads because they simply weren’t made to be husband and wife. However, being with Bobbi also had its good sides. It was her who had helped him to learn how to live with 80% hearing loss, and it had also been her who had bought him his first hearing aids he ever had. Together with sign language, which he had learned as a kid, and refreshed a little bit, he had managed to lead a quite normal life.

Clint scowled and clenched his fists. Yes, he was able to talk with the help of ASL, but of what help was it if almost no one around him was able to understand it. Therefore, he had to find another solution, started to read lips, and always replied with “normal” spoken words. First, it wasn’t that easy. He often was told that he didn’t need to shout that loud, but soon it became the simplest way to communicate with others. - At least, when the others weren’t some kind of superheroes, wearing masks which covered their mouth, which made it impossible to read their lips. Well, back then, he didn’t have to deal with heroes, he rather had troubles on Halloween, when kids knocked at his door and had costumes, which also covered their faces. But all in all, he had been very proud that most people didn’t even realize his deafness, and he liked to keep it that way.

A couple of years later something strange had happened. No one could expect that. Still, it happened, and he had gained his full hearing ability back. One of the happiest moments of his life - Next to the divorce of Mockingbird. He grinned. Because of this occasion, he had recovered completely. Hence, even the people of S.H.I.E.L.D. never learned about it. As well as his team-mates – correction: his _former_ team-mates – never knew.

Clint sighed. The archer felt how the anger inside of him subdued his sadness. Again, he clenched his fists so that his knuckles turned white. Short after “the Age of Ultron” as the media liked to refer to the battle of Sokovia, he had been on a private mission. Yes, he had a private life besides his life as an Avenger. Unfortunately, this mission didn’t turn out as successful, but as a personal nightmare. His face went dark at the thought of it, and like so often before, he wished he was Thor. He wished that he could have smashed this guy, who had done this to him, in the face with a hammer. Or hit himself with a hammer. How could he be that stupid and run through a door without checking if someone was in the dead corner? Rookie mistake. His opponent only had waited for him to finish him. And if that wasn’t already enough, this thug had used HIS, Clint’s arrows, to jam them into his ears, damaging parts of his inner and middle ear. Since then, he remained largely deaf. Again.

Bitterness left a bad taste in Clint’s mouth, when he thought about it. This incident left him with profound damage to his ears, and he was not willing to tell his friends. Sure, his condition didn’t differ to the one time when he had lost his hearing in Crossfires captivity. Again, he was only able to hear with the help of a technical device, and of course, the quality wasn’t the same as his natural ability to hear used to be. The way he lost it made the difference. The first time he was too young and couldn’t defend himself from his violent father, so in his eyes, it didn’t count. The second time, he had self-inflicted the loss with a sonic arrow. It was his choice. His kind of heroic choice to save lives. But now.. This time he simply had been utterly stupid, and behaved like a freshman. Being stabbed in the eardrums by a psychopathic clown with his own arrows.. Clint huffed. No, he never could tell the rest of the Avengers about that. It simply was too humiliating.

The thought that he was not an Avenger, that he was a nobody, grew and became stronger and stronger. In his misery, he started to wish that he was anyone else. Anywhere else. And that had been the very moment when he had known what he had to do. He hadn’t like it, and it had been everything but easy for him, but he was afraid, that the Avengers only would see a burden in him; someone they couldn’t need any longer. Clint didn’t like to admit it, but the woman was absolutely right about that with her accusations. Also, he hadn’t wanted to see the pitying glances of his team, when they would give him the pink slip. No, he really hadn’t wanted that. He wouldn’t have been able to stand it. So that’s why he had finally resigned without mentioning the actual reasons. With a heavy heart, he had decided to be, just like he’d wished: someone else, somewhere else. He had moved to Brooklyn and had the plan to spend most of his time sleeping or sipping coffee. What else was there to do? He drowned in self-pity, but who could blame him for that?

With the thought _“This is bad and you’re a dummy. This is what you get for trying to help people”,_ and because someone pulled him in a not gingerly way on his hair, he returned with his thoughts back to presence. The man, the woman had talked to, bend Clint’s neck so that he could see the old lamps on the ceiling. One was flickering. Hawkeye realized what would come next. And right, the man held a syringe in his hand. Panic-stricken, Clint tried to get away. Tried to defend himself. He didn’t know what to do. All he knew was that they must not expose him to that vicious drug again. If his assumption was right, the liquid would turn him slowly in an abulic slave, so he had to disallow being injected it. He tried to wrest himself from the grip of the man, but it only caused the latter to hold him even tighter. Clint didn’t stand a chance against the Hydra member and the man drove the needle into his neck without batting an eye.

He felt how they dragged him away carelessly. A couple of times his head and limbs were hit painfully by corners, which certainly, later on, would cause his whole body to be covered with bruises, but although he knew in his mind that he had to do something to prevent being injured, his body didn’t react.

Suddenly, everywhere were hands on him and Clint, not understanding what was going on, mobilized the strength of despair and lashed out and kicked with his feet. He even bit one of the Hydra agents. But soon his energy left him, his sight blurred, his mind clouded, and his body relaxed.

* * *

 

When Clint came round, he found himself lying on the ground. However, this time something was different, and he needed a couple of minutes to figure it out with his cotton candy filled mind. The floor was cold, and it felt like it wasn’t concrete anymore, but flagging instead. He froze, but at the same time, there was something pleasuring warm. How was he able to sense that through his clothes? “Aww hell, they can’t be serious!” he cursed furrowing his brow. He was completely naked. Well, after all, he also wasn’t handcuffed anymore. That was at least something. On the other side, his “weapon” was also gone. While rolling around on the ground, when he had tried to escape the inevitable - being drugged – he had managed to grab a little piece of a metal blade which had lain on the floor and had slipped it secretly into his pocket. It wasn’t much, but it could have been helpful to open cuffs and keyholes. “Damn,” he repeated. Something hot was trickling on him continually, and again he needed quite an amount of time to realize that he was sitting under a shower and that his situation looked bad. Really bad.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, by now, we’ve reached the point where in chap 1 started everything. I hope it was understandable how Clint ended up under the shower..  
> Anyways, there will be a normal timeline without jumping back and forth in the following chaps, so that the whole story isn’t getting too confusing.  
> I hope you’re looking forward to finding out what happens to Clint in captivity and what the others Avengers are doing, while Clint isn’t with them.


	7. Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: major spoiler to comic “Blindspot”

Chapter 7

Clint’s whole body ached, and he lost count how many times he had lost consciousness in the last couple of hours. “If it’s going on like this, my faints will get faints..” Suddenly, he felt a cold air draft, which interrupted his considerations. Would he have been able to hear, he would have heard heavy steps coming closer and a creakingly opening door. And as a result of that, he would have been able to brace himself for what happened next. But he couldn’t, as well as he couldn’t see the approaching person in the darkness. Therefore, he cringed startled, when someone touched him by his shoulders, and dragged him out of the shower.

The crack in the door filled with light made the room appear in a dim atmosphere. Ruggedly, Clint was pressed with his chest against the wall next to the door. The cold light from outside dazzled him, and it took him some time to adjust to it. Although the light was unpleasant at the first moment, he was relieved about it. Of course, he was wise enough to hide it from the Hydra agents. It was quite likely that he stood in the darkness because the light simply was not working in the old bunker, and not because Hydra wanted to torture him. Because that was how it felt like. Not like physical torture, but rather like psychological. Not knowing where you are, with the certainty that you couldn’t expect hospitality, and not able to hear or see anything, is quite a hard and nerve-wracking condition. - Even for a highly trained and experienced man like Clint. He knew the feeling of being deaf as well as he knew how it was like being blind, as he once had received a strong blow to his head. The doctors had called it a “blunt force trauma”. There had been a swelling putting pressure on the occipital lobe of the brain causing him to slowly going blind. Barney had turned out to be a savior sibling, and a bone marrow transplant had saved Clint’s eyesight. However, never in his life before, he had been deaf and blind at the same time. And he wasn’t keen on experiencing being at someone’s mercy in such a helpless way once more. In such a state, he was absolutely unable to defend himself. So if Hydra ever would get knowledge about it, or would start do realize what advantage they had over him, he really would have fucked up.

Before being able to start resistance, his hands already were fixed again on his back, and someone fumbled around his legs. First, Clint wanted to kick the person and shout “Get the hell away from me!” but soon realized that someone only dressed him with boxer shorts, which was actually good. He squinted and recognized his own boxers with the SpongeBob printing. Awesome, of course, he had to wear of all underwear he had those boxers today. Now he definitely would be the mockery of Hydra forever. But come on, to be fair, his boxers were a hundred times better than Cap’s white fine ribbed cotton underwear. Once, when he and Cap had finished a workout and headed for the showers, Steve had looked at him and his purple briefs, on which the face of Luke Skywalker was printed all over it. After a - for Clint very awkward - minute had passed, in which Steve had stared at his underwear, the Captain had told him in such a serious tone, that Clint had a hard time trying not to burst out laughing out loud, his head slowly turning into a very dark red tomato, that he knew a fine haberdasher, and if he wanted they could go there together and buy him some appropriate clothing. Yeah, him and Captain America shopping together panties.. Well that would be some news in the media..

Again, Clint was dragged very ungently over the floors of the bunker. Given to the number of different corridors it seemed to be a gigantic bunker, and although Hawkeye memorized the way, he soon lost orientation in this maze of hallways and doors which all looked alike. After a while, the surrounding of smooth polished concrete walls changed to lower passages which were cut into the stone directly and Clint had the impression that they were even deeper under the ground by now. Finally, their way ended in front of a heavy-looking metal door. It made a little bit the impression of the entrance of a bunker, but they already were in a bunker if Clint wasn’t completely wrong. So this was kind of a bunker in a bunker, he guessed.

The two men, who had fetched him in the shower, released him from his chains and shoved him into the small, musty smelling room, in a way that Clint stumbled over his own feet and almost fell down. “Hey, careful!” he complained, but nobody heard his angry shout, as the door was already locked and the thick walls made the room absolutely soundproof. There were also no windows were any noise could transpire. It simply was a typical ferroconcrete bunker. Just a little bit smaller than the ones Clint had seen before.

He stepped out the walls to measure the length and breadth. It was about four steps in one direction and five to the other side. After figuring out that, he slowly slid down in one of the corners and decided to take a raincheck on further examinations of his prison cell. Still, he was a little bit enfeebled from the serum they had given him, and he felt like he had some gaps in his memory. Only slowly seeped the whole meaning of the events of the past few hours into his brain and removed the scales from his eyes: In the shower, he first had assumed the drugs would make him weak, even would cause him to faint. So he had believed they only wanted to keep him physical under control. Later on, he had had a bad feeling, that this weakness could be only the foreshadow for something even worse. And now he had a clue what it was. Everything fitted perfectly: the man who gave him his first shot had said after this, he would behave. The woman had talked about how he would follow her orders and had played with the drug while saying this.. There only could be one solution: The drug was used for brainwashing.

Actually, he already had had that conclusion, when he had talked to the woman and tried to get away from being once more drugged, and also in the shower he had already had a short moment of cognition, but one of the side effects of the serum was, that people couldn’t always think clear, and also from time to time had gaps in their memory. So for Clint this insight was new, and if he wouldn’t have fallen asleep from exhaustion, he would have panicked again, like he already did in the bathroom today.

It was a short and fitful sleep. With goosebumps all over his skin, Clint awoke and crawled to the old mattress, which lay on the other side of the room. On it, there was a blanket, which he thankfully wrapped around his body. It was terribly cold. Especially after the hot shower, and the fact that he couldn’t towel himself off, still had wet hair, and only was wearing boxers. The light bulb on the ceiling, which only gave a dim light, was flickering. Apparently, Hydra didn’t waste their money for a caretaker: The flickering lamp in the part of the bunker where he first arrived. The broken one in the bath. And here again a flickering one. Clint only hoped that the light would hang on and not also cark it soon. Again, he execrated his credulity and shook his head in disbelief about his utter stupidity. Now the drugs almost wore off completely, and he saw the whole situation crystal clear. He vowed to himself, that he wouldn’t freak out like he did a couple of minutes ago in the bathroom, which he now could remember again, and felt a little bit like in the movie Groundhog Day, and hoped it wouldn’t repeat that he forgot important details and clues he’d already had drawn, would remember them again just to forget them immediately. He had to buck up and not have a dizzy spell again. He would fight, and if it would be the last thing he did. Hydra shouldn’t have an easy job of it.

“Being deaf isn’t that bad. You already went through it, and you even forwent your hearing aids because lip reading was enough,“ reassured Clint himself. Of course, it was an advantage to be able to hear something if you wanted to escape and could hear the danger around the next corner; if you had the plan to overhear your enemies, or if you tried with the help of noise to figure out where you were. _“But here you wouldn’t hear anything anyway, no matter if you could hear or not”_ a silent voice whispered in his head, and Clint knew that it was right. At least for the “figuring-out-where-he-was-point”. The escaping, however, would be extremely difficult, and afterward, he could give his friends almost no information about what Hydra planned. He only knew that it had something to do with Vision’s Mind Stone, which could be anything.

 _“That’s why they can’t need you on the team.”_ The reassuring voice in his head all of a sudden changed to a mean whisper. _“That’s why you are not worthy to be an Avenger.”_ Angry, Clint wanted to push these unpleasant thoughts aside and burst out loud: “I’m not a part of the Avengers anymore anyway, so fuck off and leave me alone!” Then, he gritted his teeth and went into a position like there was a real physical opponent, which would attack him any moment. But there was only that voice, agonizing and crystal clear in his head, not letting itself being intimidated by Clint’s fit of rage: _“Oh yes, you are alone. No one will miss you..”_ Clint shivered on his whole body, and he tried to think about something else, but his thoughts had other plans and went on: _“Do you remember how you’ve ignored every attempt of your friends to get in contact with you since you’ve retired? Do you remember how you once even escaped on the roof when you saw Natasha and Steve through the window entering the building you live in? Do you..”_ “Enough!” Clint screamed that word out loud and jumped enraged on his feet. His carotid artery, as well as a vein on his forehead, were bulging alarmingly, and he was so tensed, that all over his body tendons protruded. He wanted this fucking voice to stop plague him and shook his head vigorously to get rid of it. However, it didn’t work. So he needed another tactic. “Breathe in, breathe out, be cool,” he forced himself to inhale and exhale slowly. “Well Barton, I dunno what to do, but what’s about finding a way out of here first?” Clint continued talking to himself. He once had read that in a frightening situation where you are all on your own, it would help to hear the own voice, and although he couldn’t hear himself and was just rather unhappy about the situation than frightened, it still helped to stop the uncontrolled thoughts. One last time, he took a deep breath and went to the door to examine it and search for weak points, where he somehow could open it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially, I had described Clint’s underwear as “purple briefs with the imprinting ‘I’m Sherlocked’”, but about a month later I saw an Interview with Jeremy Renner, where he said something about Luke Skywalker/Mark Hamill and that he had him on his underwear, so I simply had to change that..^^
> 
> Quote: “If it’s going on like this, my faints will get faints..” – well actually the original is: “I think my concussions are getting concussions.” (Matt Fraction, Hawkeye)


	8. Recalibration

Chapter 8

Another couple of hours had passed, when Clint decided to stop examining the room. He had to accept it: there was no way out. He had had a close look at every inch of the door, but although it was old, it was solid without any flaws where he could bust it open. Even though it had been a useless undertaking, he also had checked the walls for a way out, but of course, couldn’t find there one, and forbade himself to wish that he was Vision and simply could pass through the concrete.

Although it had been utterly stupid, and he had known that, he still had jumped with his shoulders against the walls till he had big colorful hematomata on his skin and had also pushed with all his strength against the door till his arms started to tremble because of the strain. Like an animal in a cage, he had stridden up and down restlessly. When he hadn’t known what else he could try to escape, he had sunken onto his knees to dig his way out. The only problem had been that the alleged earthy ground stopped after about an inch. Underneath was –surprise – concrete. Angrily, Clint had hit his fist against the floor, hadn’t cared that he had bloodied his knuckles by doing so and had continued digging at another area out of pure stubbornness. But of course, it had also led to nothing. All he got were bloody fingernails.

Resigned he let himself fall again on the mattress and covered his face in his hands. And there he was sitting, not knowing exactly for what he was waiting. A strange feeling gripped him. It was almost like he wanted to turn to the last page of a book to find out whether the end was good or not. But unfortunately, that wasn’t how real life worked. And even if.. Clint wasn’t so sure if he would do it, as he feared that the end would disappoint him. No, it would be better to don’t do it. Just imagine you wouldn’t like what you read, but you are stuck with the book because this book actually is your life and therefore can’t be simply exchanged against a better one. On the other side, just a sneak peek, to find out whether it is worth going on with it.. Maybe you even could do some changings – delete parts, add something else or rewrite bad chapters - if you tried to be the own author of your life. You could make an attempt to construct it by yourself and not follow a given way. To be aware of the future could be helpful for doing so. It was a tempting point, but Clint still wasn’t sure if he would do it if he could. He scratched his head. Not really being into “philosophical” thoughts, he didn’t want to go on thinking about it and didn’t even know where such weird considerations suddenly came from. Maybe being alone for so long with nothing to do wasn’t that good for his mental state. However, if he knew one thing, it was that he wasn’t keen on seeing the Hydra agents again, so maybe staying on his own would still be the better option. But sooner or later the door had to open..

If he should take another look at the door? There was nothing else to do. Maybe he could find a good position where he could wait for his imprisoners, throw the blanket over the first guy who entered the room and.. No, the woman had told him to follow her orders. She wouldn’t like it if he ran away. Wait! Did he really just think that? Hell, he had to disallow those poisoned thoughts to get into his brain. He just regained a lot of his physical strength, so he couldn’t lose his wits now.

Nevertheless, Clint followed a sudden intuition, which appeared to be rather insane, and smashed his head desperately against the wall next to him. And again. One time, two times, three times. Blood was running down his head and to the laceration on the back another one joined his right side of his head. Only short the concern about an incoming concussion flared up and was immediately expelled by a fourth hard hit against the wall. This time blood was dropping out of his mouth as well, and his grin made him appear like a madman. Clint felt muzzy, which seemed to get, like being out cold, a normal state of his. It wasn’t a question anymore if he would throw up, but when he would because he really was sick, what a doctor would state as a typical symptom of a concussion. Still, like a maniac, he went on banging his head against the concrete. And he had a good reason for doing so. If Natasha could recalibrate him with a hit against his head, why shouldn’t he be able to do it by himself? Who needed a former spy or a hammer for that after all?

Once more he wanted to hit his head against the, by now, with his blood splattered wall, but soft hands held him back. He looked up and saw directly into the green eyes of the woman, which had entered the room without him noticing it. Gently, she cupped his maltreated head and greeted him with the question what was going on here. Clint didn’t answer. The smell of her sweet perfume distracted him, and everything around him was spinning. The room seemed to move, till the injured found a fixing point in the eyes of the lady. So he locked his eyes with hers, which seemed like a saving anchor in the storm. After a couple of seconds staring into her dark eyes, the world stopped whirling around him, and he made the weak attempt to escape her grasp. But without effort, she continued holding his head and looking deeply into his eyes. Slowly and abundantly clear, she mouthed the words “Are you staring at me like this because you’re reading my lips or because you want to kiss me?” Did she say “kiss” or “kick”? Clint pondered. When he finally decided that she meant “kiss” his eyes became wide like saucers. The lady smiled, but it wasn’t a mean, deceitful one. Quite the contrary. It was an absolute genuine smile. “So you understand me, don’t you, Hawkeye? You can read my lips?” A split second, Clint hesitated to give her an answer. He could lie to her and pretend that he didn’t understand a single word. Maybe it would be an advantage for him in future if she believed him and talked her plans over with other Hydra agents in front of him without realizing that he “overheard” them. But something inside him forced him to answer her honestly. And so he nodded reluctantly, which made him wince due to his just self-inflicted head injury, and it gave him trouble not to upchuck on the expensive looking high heels.

“I’m sorry that you were treated that rough..,” the woman continued. Clint squeezed his eyes. Did he get that part right or was he too much out of practice? Maybe hits on the head weren’t such a great idea. Why the hell should she be sorry? The woman went on, interrupting his thoughts. “..but you are our prisoner, and we have grand plans with you.” He shivered and was a little bit angry about his reaction because of course, the woman recognized it. Caressingly, she stroked his hair. Wait! Caressing? Clint shook himself. Surely his drug-clouded mind played a trick on him. Or his awesome idea of recalibrating himself made him have a screw loose. So note to self then: “try not to recalibrate yourself ever again”. On the other hand, the way how the woman touched his cheeks, traced his jawline with her fingers, and how soft her eyes went when she looked at him.. There was nothing left of her severe manner, which he was able to observe when she talked to several Hydra agents. Her whole behavior was so lovely.

When he teared up, he quickly closed his eyes. Smashing his head didn’t only make him feel sick but far worse, it also didn’t work. He realized how he had slowly more and more the feeling that the lady was nice to him, even would like him and care about him, but at the same time, he knew that was complete nonsense. She imprisoned him, and since they had met, she had never done anything good for him. She was the reason for his misery. However, he couldn’t help it, the feeling that she only wanted his best grew, and he wanted to get rid of this drug-implanted thoughts, but couldn’t figure out how.

Clint braced himself and opened his eyes tentatively again. Right at that moment, the boss hunkered down like adults do, when they want to talk to kids on one level. Still, she was smiling. “Don’t be afraid. I take care of you. As long as you follow my orders, I will make sure that no one will ever hurt you again.” After a short pause and another intense look in Clint’s eyes, she asked: “Will you obey me?” Clint wanted to say: “Jeez why does everybody keep asking me that? Scuse me, but are you nuts or simply stupid? I’ll never take orders from someone insane like you.” Though somehow he lost control and only affirmed with a low voice, which was barely a whisper: “Yes I will - till the end of the line. I’m yours.” Appalled by his own words, Clint panted for air but didn’t manage to take back his last statement. Cap absolutely wouldn’t be happy, if he ever found out how he had misused his famous quote. “Good boy.” The expression on the woman’s face brightened up, even more, only to darken a little bit again. “Then nobody will harm you. Not even you yourself. Do you understand? Never hurt yourself again like this.” She pointed at the blood stained wall and his wound on his head and the archer sensed a hint of suppressed anger between her earnestness.

The woman stood up, leaned down to him and planted a peck softly on Clint’s hair before he could turn away in disgust. Or wasn’t he disgusted? He did neither know what to think nor what to feel. He belonged to her, which meant that he had to like it, or not? What the hell was going on?

The lady was about to leave his prison cell, when she turned around and quipped: “Oh and by the way, nice boxers.” With that comment she finally walked out of the room, leaving a deranged marksman behind. After quite a while, he sighed: “First thing I do when I’m outta here is goin’ with Cap to the damn haberdasher.” Clint paused for a moment before he smiled relieved. He just had made considerations for the time after his captivity, which meant he still had his own will. It was crippled, but still there. Even a –more or less - witty answer to the woman’s teasing occurred to him. It was too late, but Clint didn’t care. The only thing, what was important for him was that he hadn’t lost the way he was usually thinking when no one else was messing with his head. Something like: “Every Avenger is collecting such stuff. Look at Iron Man and his limited edition Dora the Explorer watch. But do you know how expensive Dora is? I only can afford SpongeBob. So if you are searching for a birthday present for me, you know now what would make me happy” popped into his mind. And his smile broadened even more. He wasn’t broken yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will happen next week? Is there going to be more mockery about Clint’s childish underwear or does the author think that the joke is getting old? What is Natasha doing while her best friend is “relaxing” in Hydra’s “comfort class resort”? Is she part of a conspiracy, needs to get rid of Clint because she always wanted to be Hawkeye and does she undergo a gender reassignment so she can replace him without anyone noticing it? And if so, why doesn’t she simply eliminate Kate and spare herself from the surgery? (Okay, because Kate doesn’t exist in this universe.. yeah, yeah..) Anyways.. Does the woman have a name or is she an alien from a planet whose inhabitants don’t know what names are? Will our favorite archer be saved by a bunch of mini-unicorns? Is the writer slowly turning crazy and writing nonsense because no one is reading the notes anyways?  
> Who knows? Stay tuned to find out!  
> I wish you a wonderful week :)


	9. Whatever you do..

Chapter 9

Outside the bunker, the sun went up and illuminated the landscape in a warm orange light, which slowly turned into a light yellow and then into a bright blue sky. The scenery appeared peacefully. Sunrays melted the hoar frost from the night. Dewdrops made the grass and the flowers glitter beautifully. The world awoke, birds started singing, and a rabbit hopped over the glade. Nothing provided an indication of the abominable things going on only a few meters under the meadow.

An explosion broke the silence. Screeching, birds rose out of the trees into the sky. Soon after it, the situation settled down, and the peacefulness returned. Only the little rabbit that just had scampered joyfully over the grass was missing. It was replaced by a deep hole at the place, where it just accidently had stepped onto a mine.

* * *

 

A couple of hundred miles away, New York and its inhabitants awoke as well. Natasha sat up on the side of her bed and grabbed a photo, which was on her night stand. Soft, she traced the contours of the pictured man. It showed her best friend smiling brightly into the camera. She had a bad feeling. Knowing that Clint had made his own decision and that she had to respect it, she still was worried about him and couldn’t explain why. Although Clint didn’t always behave like a grown man, he still was an adult, and as a former Avenger, he definitely knew how to take care of himself. But still.. Sighing she placed back the picture, stood up, dressed and made herself ready for the daily life of an Avenger.

* * *

 

Clint never learned about all these things, which happened around him, as he was absolutely cut off from the outside world in his prison cell.

They brought him food and a water bottle. However, he didn’t bother to taste it. Till now, he only had been drugged with an injection rammed into his neck. Nevertheless, he couldn’t be sure if they also contaminated his food. He had to be careful. Maybe it was in the water. The liquid was as transparent as the water so that he wasn’t able to see if it was there or not. Though, he was quite thirsty. Carefully, he opened the bottle and sniffed at the water. Nothing. Should he risk it? Just a sip? The last time he had ingested something had been in the morning when he had taken a mouthful of coffee directly out of the coffeepot. Clint speculated how many days since that dreadful morning had passed, and ended up with the estimate of two or three. Gosh, he really was extremely thirsty, but still didn’t dare to risk a sip, and put back the water. The sandwiches looked so delicious, too. The very smell of it.. He almost reached with his hands for them but kicked the plate out of his reach with the warning words: “Whatever you do, don’t eat the fucking sandwiches!” at the very last moment. Thereby, the bottle toppled over, and its valuable content was spilled over the dirty floor. For a second, Clint was startled when this happened, but soon this feeling was replaced by relief. He turned around so he wouldn’t have to look at the remains of the temptation any longer. It was better this way. At least, he hoped so. The last days, he only had had terrible ideas: leaving the Avengers, trying to help someone who didn’t exist, smashing his head,.. The list was long, way too long and he wasn’t keen on adding a new point to it that proofed his stupidity.

His head felt like a little man would play drums with exceptional enthusiasm and endurance inside of it. All at once, the pestering thoughts came back. Unfortunately, this time an angry shouted “Get lost!” wasn’t enough to get rid of them. Getting out of here alive, seemed impossible. He needed the help of Natasha. No, actually he needed everybody’s help. All of the Avengers. Were they already searching for him? He snorted. Of course not. “Clint, you moron why should they do that? You did everything to make clear that you want to be on your own. And now you have what you’ve wished for. You are alone, so be happy,” he added sarcastically. The archer was close to abandoning himself to despair, which rose inside him. But no! Not this time. His weak behavior under the shower was really enough and he was ashamed of it. Simply giving up now wouldn’t make it better. He had to be strong. The voice in his head whispered: _“Be strong? For whom? No one would care if you were still alive or not tomorrow. There is no one waiting for you..”_ Angrily, Clint exclaimed: “Of course there is someone: Lucky!” And he started to mumble his dog's name again and again, almost like a mantra. He clung to the thought that his beloved pizza dog needed him and was surely as hungry as he was, waiting in his apartment for his return. Well, scratch the “hungry-part”. Much to Clint’s chagrin, Lucky knew only too well how to open the fridge and fed everything he could find there. So at least he hadn’t to worry about his dog to perish cruelly.

_Perish.._

_starve_ _.._

_food.._

_water.._

Following his instincts, Clint swirled around to eventually fill his empty stomach only to stop dead in his tracks. _Lucky.. Lucky.. Lucky.._ It was like a little angel was sitting in his head trying to expel the devil from his thoughts. - The demon, which was represented by the silent mean voices, which almost drove him mad. He already had had a dizzy spell, and he wasn’t proud about that. So this time he couldn’t let the devil prevail. The repetition of almost giving up and pull himself together was exhausting, but there was no other way than to continue doing this and hoping that his angel showed greater persistence than the devil inside him. Lucky waited for him, and retired or not – he never could betray his friends. If he gave in now, Vision would die. The freedom of having an own will is something people usually only start to appreciate when it’s too late. Clint, however, had so many experiences with it to value it, and he wanted to show his enemies, that they had no chance against him, and that he would never let them inside his mind. If they wanted him to eat – what they surely wanted as a starved archer wouldn’t be helpful for their plans - they would have to force feed him. He would never do it voluntarily. And when they would come to force him, he would pretend that he was weak because of the malnutrition, but in reality, he would take them by surprise, be ready to defend himself and somehow get away.

It was only a rough extraction plan. Persons like Coulson never even would be about to think about it as one, but Clint never had extraction plans, so this one was actually pretty good in his opinion. Contented, he gave himself a gold star in his imaginary assignment book, which surely would look good between all the red. - In his imagination it was completely red as Coulson and Cap never were that happy about his rather offhanded working methods, and always found something to carp about. And if Clint was honest, he would have been happy to hear their nagging right now as it would break the silence and stop his loneliness. He was tensed and bored at once. And that was a pretty weird feeling.

 

The door opened and closed, and the boss entered Clint’s prison cell. She looked at the not tasted food and the smile, which just had played upon her lips, disappeared. The lady frowned. “You better should eat.” Clint’s ornery answer only consisted of a determined “NO!” Again, the woman tried to make him consume the food. This time, a little more commanding: “Eat.” “In no way, I’m gonna eat your mind-altering, drug-contaminated crap!” His voice almost cracked because his throat was parched, but he kept staring defiantly into her eyes and crossed his arms. Too late, he remembered that he had a plan to follow, which contained him acting being feeble, but okay, he could change his plan. Why should he stick to it? Everything was all right, as longs as he wouldn’t give in. As the lady didn’t answer, he felt constrained to explain himself and went on: “Look, I’ve done the whole mind control thing. Not a fan.” Insight crossed the lady’s face, and she grabbed one of the sandwiches, which wasn’t squished too much from Clint’s previous outburst, took a small bite and washed it down with the drink of water, which remained in the toppled over bottle. “See, it’s not venomed.” The captive almost could hear the way to sugary voice in his imagination, which felt like utter mockery. It helped him to resist, although it was damned difficult. If he was asked what he loved, it was easy to narrow down: his bow and arrows, Lucky, sleep, coffee, pizza, and sandwiches. Gosh, he loved the latter so much, that sometimes he even dreamed about them, and at the moment he was famished. Still, he didn’t move. The facial features of the boss turned severe, and without warning, she gave Clint a black eye and yelled “Drink!” holding a new water bottle in her hands. Taken by surprise, the muscular man stumbled back, pressing his hands on his quickly swelling eye. From the distance of the two steps he had made backward, he observed with his healthy eye how the woman fought with her emotions and forced a smile on her face. One last time she said: “Consider it well”, but once again Clint refused. With unsuppressed anger on her face, she stormed off with the warning: “Well, then live with the consequences!” before Clint had the chance to follow at least one part of his plan and overpower her.


	10. Agony and Sorrow

Chapter 10

Four days later, Clint had lost track of time completely. Seconds felt like hours and hours like years. The ache of his wounds eased, but there was a nagging pain in his stomach now, and his throat burned like hell. Distracted with thirst, he had given up all precautions long ago and with it also a part of his dignity. Desperately, he knelt down and licked up the puddle, which consisted of the rest of the water from the bottle that slowly percolated through the floor. Clint still tried to get some of the liquid, when the water had been gone long ago, and only settled dust and dirt adhered to his tongue. It was humiliating, and a tear stole into his eye. His extraction plan hadn’t work. “That’s way I never have one. It only disappoints you,” thought Clint depressed. How long was a human able to survive without water? He couldn’t remember. All that came back to memory was the unpleasant knowledge he once had gained at S.H.I.E.L.D.: he would die of multiple organ failure, but he wouldn’t notice when it happened because he would have lapsed into a coma long before.

His heartbeat sped up as well as his respiratory frequency did, but he couldn’t tell whether this happened because he was afraid, or if this were only physical symptoms of exsiccosis. Did they want to let him die now? That didn’t make any sense. Or did they find another solution without needing his help? That, indeed, could make sense. Clint tried to concentrate, but mental activity was difficult for him at this point, and the craving for water was distracting him constantly. Being so thirsty was even worse than pain, and if he would have a choice, he’d rather let all of his bones be broken than to have to endure this any longer. His lips were chapped, and although he licked over them, it didn’t help, as his mouth was completely dry. There was no saliva left to moisturize them.

The exhausted man was torn apart by the thought of simply asking for the saving liquid and with it ending this hell, and his pride and his volition of not giving in. Finally, he couldn’t endure it any longer. His vision blurred, he lay on the ground, and despite the rather cold temperature in the room, he sweated and wheezed like someone who just had sprinted a great distance. Driven by thirst and hunger, he braced up, crawled to the metal door and knocked at it. For doing so, he needed two attempts because he was so weak that he barely was able to lift his hands. The world started spinning around him. Panting heavily, he leaned against the door and rasped: “You’ve won. I’m going to drink!” His voice failed, and he waited a couple of seconds, which seemed to last an eternity before he cleared his throat and cried again for the people he wished he had never met. “Please, I’m gagging for a drink.” No reaction. One last time he pleaded with a hardly audible whisper: “Please.” Then he slumped down feebly. As he had already guessed was the room soundproof, and therefore nobody would be able to hear his begging. Maybe it was better this way. He was a fighter, and always had been quite sure that he wouldn’t die at home in his bed, but he had hoped that it would be during a battle face-to-face with his enemy and not like this.. This was neither a heroic nor a peaceful death, which Clint would have accepted. That it was so easy to defeat him was just humiliating. But at least, he could close his eyes forever with the knowledge of not having betrayed his friends. He didn’t help them, but he also didn’t lure them into a trap.

Clint’s breathing got shallow. At first, he panicked, but he hadn’t the strength to fight against it, and if he was honest he also didn’t want to fight anymore. Something strange happened to him. All his life he had searched for the right way. – For a place where he belonged. And now he knew instinctively where to go. His search came to an end. It was almost like his spirit disconnected from his devastated, imprisoned body. Golden light suffused his jail cell. The voices that had haunted him, since he had been abducted, suddenly fell silent. The feeling of pain, the agonizing certainty of having failed, of not being good enough, disappeared. The archer was abuzz with deep inner peace. _“S’okay, Clint. You blew it, but you’re not a bad person.”_ With this consoling thought, he collapsed. Flashes of lights appeared and built a maelstrom of colors. In between appeared loose pictures. Pictures of things that had happened in his life, but also grotesque figures and shapes that didn’t make any sense. The swirl grew and went faster. Clint didn’t struggle against it; he let himself carry away and felt light. Free. The quietude went even more peaceful. - So much that there were no words to describe the marvelous feeling. He was ready to rise and let go. His heart stopped beating and he took his terminal breath before he cut off the last connections to free his soul from his dying body.

Clint didn’t realize that someone actually had heard his last entreaty. As he was lying directly in front of the door the mysterious, young lady had to squeeze herself through the small clearance between the door frame and door leaf. Carefully, she embraced Clint’s body and prevented the Hawk’s head from hitting the ground. Because of the grasp, which he felt around his waist and his head, Clint was ripped away brutally from his way to find his soul a place for eternal peace. The great height he went up filled with beatitude turned to a dark gorge, which seemed to have no ending. It felt like he was plummeting unbraked to the ground. Helplessly, Clint tried to get back, but the light was gone. He fell faster and faster. Still, there was no bottom in sight where he would smash inescapably. Suddenly, he saw his friends. Injured. Dying. He heard Cap’s voice: “You could have saved us.” Clint wanted to stay with them, wanted to explain himself. Excuse for his weakness. Ask for forgiveness. But he was pulled away, fell deeper and the bodies of his friends faded away. Blackness engulfed him further in the abyss.

 

Signs of life returned into the man whom the woman cradled in her arms. Just in the moment when his heart started beating again and even pounded like mad as if it wanted to compensate for the last seconds that it had failed, she pressed her hand on his chest and felt contented how it grew slowly regular again. However, Clint still didn’t breathe. But the woman wasn’t concerned. Professionally, she laid him on the ground and checked if the airway was clear so that her “patient” wouldn’t suffocate. To start with a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, she tilted his head back and pinched his nose. Without hesitation, she bent down and laid her lips on his. Although the woman was actually rather used to kill people instead to save them, her efforts were successful. Her hot breath filled Clint’s lungs, his thorax widened before she released his nostrils and the air escaped again causing his chest to fall. A couple of times, she repeated it, till she eventually realized how the man started to breathe on his own. It was weak, so she decided to support him a little bit longer and kept sharing her breath with him. Being in perfect accord, they breathed together till Clint broke the harmony with a gasp for more air. The lady moved slowly away from his lips and watched fascinated how the archer fought his way back to life on his own and was happy that their first “kiss” that they had shared had been a very special one: the kiss of life.

Sluggishly, Clint opened his healthy eye. Fortunately, he didn’t go into shock, but he was disorientated, and it took him some time to realize that he was back in his prison cell. When his vision was clear enough to recognize the woman and what she held in her hands, he howled in sheer desperation. In a hopeless attempt to save himself, he rolled to one side and tried to get out of the now open door. An escape possibility was within reach. It was so close. However, he was way too weak and still under the spell of what he just had experienced. So he was an easy prey for the Hydra member. Tears streamed over his face when she pricked him.

* * *

 

_At the same time in the Avengers Tower:_

An eventless day got slowly to its end. Bruce and Tony spent it tinkering and talking about things no one else understood. Cap nettled Falcon till Sam threatened to tell the others about the fight Steve recently had with one of the hyper-modern washing machines in the basement of the tower if he didn’t immediately stop “being on his left”. Vision practiced cooking, like he did in every free minute he had, to be able to impress Wanda with his culinary skills when she came back from her visit to the grave of her family in her hometown. And Natasha, who watched him bored, suddenly had to learn the already extinct Leinster-Irish dialect because you never knew when you could need it. Quickly, she dashed away before Vision could ask her another time to taste his prepared “food”, which this time looked like already eaten and smelled like a mixture of burned tires and cyclamens.

In the evening all of them assembled to let the day unwind together. They were watching a football game on TV and cheered for their favorite team. Steve and Tony started bickering with which tactic the team could be better, and the billionaire snarled at the super soldier that he would buy the squad and that the Captain himself could train them, and then he could see that his ideas were bullshit. Sam giggled “Language!” and everyone bubbled over with laughter. Only Cap was a wet blanket, grumbled that the joke was getting old, and - being annoyed - wanted to leave the room.

He passed the table where Natasha was sitting, playing with her filigree, silver arrow necklace, watching the scenery absent-mindedly. The Captain stopped short. Lately, she often behaved like that, and he wasn’t used to such a tight-lipped Natasha. So he sat down, laid a hand on hers and asked her in an empathic way what was on her mind. The addressed sighed: “I’m worried about Clint.” Steve looked at her observantly. Without realizing that the men in front of the telly also had stopped their discussion and looked at her curiously, she continued: “I don’t know why, but something is wrong. I feel it. For a short moment..” Natasha stopped and searched for the right words: “..it was like I had lost him. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s just, as I said, a feeling.” Tony raised a brow and was about to say something because in all the time he knew the woman, who was not for nothing titled as Black Widow, she never let herself be guided by feelings. But he was silenced by Vision, who put his hand warningly on his shoulder. “I’m convinced that he is in hot water and needs our help, he..” This time Tony couldn’t hold back and taught her otherwise: “Clint is a master marksman and assassin, an expert martial artist, tactician, and what not. Gosh, he even is an expert acrobat. He is unerring, and if he is out of arrows, he still can use his bow as a melee weapon. He..,” Tony emphasized the word and looked at Natasha “..is the only person I‘ve ever met, who carries even more weapons around than you do, and he knows how to use them to perfection. I bet he even sleeps with his dagger and Beretta Cheetah under his pillow. Do you really think he can’t look after himself?” Natasha still had a doubting expression on her face, and wanted to reply something, but Steve was faster and took her other hand as well, holding now both of them, flashed Tony a stern glance to silence him, and said reassuringly: “What Tony is trying to tell you, is that your – _our_ \- friend knows how to defend himself, and that’s true. But he won’t need his knowledge and his weaponry. He retired and surely is enjoying being at liberty to sleep as long as he wants without being woken up by an alarm because robots are making a city fly.. Everything is fine, okay?” He squeezed Natasha’s hands, who still wasn’t convinced, but decided to guard her misgiving. So pretended blitheful she agreed: “Certainly you are right... So who’s gonna win the game?” The intended change of subject was successful and spat whose team tactic was the better one flared up again.


	11. Welcome back

Chapter 11

She watched him sleeping. He seemed so peaceful and relaxed, even smiled slightly. It wasn’t like the engrossed smile when she had found him, which soon had been replaced by a shocked expression, and had looked like he wanted to clench to something desperately what wasn’t there. Charily, she brushed back a strand of hair, which was matted with blood, which fell in his face. When an inferior agent asked her what to do with the unconscious archer, she hushed him away angrily, giving the instruction not to be disturbed and pointing out that she already had contended with more than a defenseless man. The agent flinched and departed quickly. He had seen what his boss was able to do, and wasn’t keen to incur the wrath of her.

Meanwhile, the woman closed the door and made sure that it was locked. She didn’t want Clint to get away, but, to be honest, her bigger concern was that, despite her warning, someone of her staff might get in. Grabbing a chair, she placed herself next to Clint and looked at him. He was really good looking with an impressive physique. Okay, being rather short, he wasn’t built like a swimming trunks model, but he was sturdy and ripped. Well, the woman had to admit that he used to be like that before he almost starved. Right now, he had lost a lot of muscle mass, but that could be changed again. Besides, he had something special on him, which made him more interesting than a handsome, but boring run-of-the-mill-model. In her twisted mind, she even thought it suited Clint being covered in bruises and healing wounds, which already built eschar, which, however, from time to time opened when he made an unpropitious movement during his sleep and let fresh blood trickle down his body. Furtively, she smelled at him. Although his last shower, on which she had insisted because she had thought it might do him good and had needed a plausible reason to undress him because she was curious, dated back quite a while, she liked his scent. Between blood and sweat was an undefinable note of something slightly sweet, which was a refreshing contrast to the other woody, manly scent, which was more intense than the sweet component, but not obtrusive. Actually, she regarded it as pretty tempting. Gently, she traced his features, and slowly went down to do the same with the hint of a sixpack on his belly.

 

When Clint regained consciousness, he found himself lying on a comfortable bed. Disorientated, he wanted to get up, but something held him back. He couldn’t remember what had happened. There was only the bad feeling of almost having reached fulfillment, which had been torn away before he had been able to reach it. However, he couldn’t explain what that desolate impression caused.

Clint pushed the feeling away, slowly turned his head, needed some time to focus, and finally saw his hands tied to the headboard. One hand on the one side, and the other one on the other side. Aww, hell. He not only hated being restrained but especially always was worried about his hands being irrevocably damaged. Thank goodness, this time it “only” where ropes, which indeed were able to cut deep into the flesh, but it weren’t the special metal cuffs again, which were more likely to break his wrists or ruin his hands in another way. His gaze returned down and came to rest on the woman he had seen more often in the last days than he had seen his ex-wife in a month when they still had been married. Although his reactions were slower than they usually were, he lashed out to kick her - or at least he tried.

Lifting his head as high as possible, he noticed that his legs were bound to bedposts as well. One on the left side and the other one on the right side, so that he lay there with straddled legs. Soo.. was he kind of an X-Men now? Weakly, he grinned about his bad joke but soon concentrated on the seriousness of the situation. Great, as far as he could see, he was alone with a woman, constrained to a bed. Couldn’t get better - unless that he didn’t want to be with this person. An awkward feeling crept over him. His position in the bed really looked bad – not to say quite unjoyous. Repressing panic, he stated: “You know, normally it’s the other way round.” The woman looked questioningly at him, and he went on: “The position.. It’s usually not me who is the passive part..” With that, his eyes widened in shock and awareness. Did the woman..? No, no, no, no way. On the other hand, a red silk chemise was, without any doubt, no standard Hydra working clothes.

With a quick movement, she mounted him and sat nonchalantly on his belly. “It’s nice to see you awake, Hawkeye,” she greeted him friendly. Like always, she mouthed every single word slowly and accurately. Her running hands over his chest caused goosebumps by the helpless man. “Don’t worry my little Hawk; I’ll teach you to be a good bottom.” Not sure if he got right, what the woman was saying, or if he just had misread it, Clint stared aghast at her and wiggled to shake her off. However, it wasn’t fruitful, as the ropes were very tight and didn’t give him much room to move. Angrily, he snapped: “Get the hell off of me!” The woman, however, wasn’t unsettled by that unfriendly order and placed her right index finger on his swollen, chapped lips. “Shhh, don’t fight against it. I know deep inside you, you want it, too.” Clint had enough and tried to rear up, what of course also didn’t work. This madwoman wouldn’t go to.. No, that wouldn’t happen. It simply couldn’t. She only was sitting on him, because it was comfy, and she was scantily-clad because it was quite warm in here. Him being restrained, only wearing boxers was by now normal anyways, and that this all happened in a bed didn’t mean anything..

Okay dammit, no use in denial, that looked sooo bloody damn bad. He swallowed hard and aimed his unswollen eye on the lady upon him. When he finally managed to speak, his voice rasped and sounded, to his discontent, insecure: “Please, don’t do that to me. You have the serum, with which you can force me to do everything you want and I won’t have another choice than to follow. So you don’t need to bring me to heel by another way. You’ve already taken my life. Isn’t that enough for you? Do you really have to take my body like this as well? I promise to do everything you command me to do – whatever it is. Please! I swear, if only you don’t ra…” His voice failed when he wanted to say “rape”, and tears ran down his cheeks. That happened definitely way too often lately for his liking. He should shout at her, cuss her out, crack a rude joke or whatever as long as he didn’t show vulnerability. However, he simply didn’t manage to show his cheeky, unconcerned side and at the moment he had other things to worry about than his not really manly behavior. Rape was the only reasonable explanation for the whole scenery. He never had to deal with it before and was not able to cope with the situation. All he knew was that he would do almost everything to prevent having intercourse with this devil, and that’s why he made the offer that he wouldn’t have done under any other circumstances, where he simply would have played cool. But playing cool was no option at the moment. The woman looked at him with an unreadable expression. “You are right. I can turn you into my submissive slave anytime I want with the help of the liquid. I’ve already started doing it. A couple more shots of it and only an obedient shadow of yourself will be left.”

Clint couldn’t hold back any longer. Where just had been single tears, it now streamed like torrents over his face and wet the sheet leaving big dark stains on it. The whole body of the archer was shaken by sobs. Shocked by Clint’s emotional outburst, the woman tried to wipe away the sheer unstoppable flood. She had always had problems with empathizing, which was actually quite helpful in her position within Hydra. But now she felt something, what she hadn’t felt for a long time: sympathy. The woman had already guessed that behind the unapproachable facade of the archer was a soft spot, and apparently, she found it. Of course, she knew about his past and his troubles with brainwashing, but she never thought, that he would react that intense with breaking out in tears in presence of her. Hastily, she went on. “Don’t cry. I don’t have to do that. You and I could be an incredible team. Imagine all the possibilities: Your abilities, my knowledge, and position..” Dreamily she let her hands glide across his half-naked body and gazed into space like she was already envisioning their future. By now, Clint was mad, bewildered and scared all at once. Why the hell was always he the one who had to deal with the maniacs? Thor only had to visit earth once and got a loving girlfriend. He himself had lived all his life on earth, and all he got was a psychopath on his waist. Or was she a sociopath? He had to look that up at the next opportunity. Anyways, thanks for nothing. Life wasn’t fair. First, this woman, from which he still didn’t know her name, abducted him, had fun to take away everything personal – including his hearing aids, made clear that he was absolutely useless, locked him in, almost let him die, and now she was sitting upon him like an enamored teenage girl, and wanted him to switch sides, betray his friends by choice, and moreover even became her partner.. her boyfriend.

Due to the last thought, he shuddered with disgust and raised his voice to let her know his opinion about her stupid idea. However, he stopped, when the lady bent to one side, without getting off his waist, and returned smilingly with a plate with delicious looking sandwiches on it. Conciliatorily, she begged his pardon. “I’m sorry, I understand that you are not in the mood now,” she let her fingers slide along his waistband and wandered deeper to his crotch. Only a thin layer of fabric separated her from his very private zone, and to his misery, he felt how a bulge built inside his trousers. He knew it only was a normal physical reaction to the way she touched him. However, it still was humiliating and ashamed he turned his head away. Determinedly, the woman took his head and made him look at her so he could read her lips again. “Well, maybe I was wrong.” A smutty grin appeared on her lips. Then she shook her head and went back to business: “Whatever.. We already have given you transfusions to recover you from your malnutrition, but I still suppose you to be hungry.”

Only now, Clint realized how hungry and thirsty he was. The feeling of starving hit him hard, and he suddenly felt sick again. When the woman held a water bottle on his lips, he satisfied his thirst with big avid gulps and choked on it. Almost half of the water ran out of his mouth. He gasped for air. Reassuringly, the woman patted his chest before she let him drink again. This time she forced him to take little sips by taking away the bottle every second. Eventually, Clint had emptied the bottle, and his throat stopped hurting so much. He even was convinced that his brain worked better now.

“You are surely half starved.” Clint huffed. Half? Completely! He wasn’t a model eating every now and then a teensy bit of broccoli, dehydrated things that looked and tasted like bird seed, or whatever. If someone started to talk about diets, he always had to laugh. He needed regular meals, which contained stuff like meatballs. Yeah, a couple of meatballs, which he could stuff into his cheeks, would be great right now.

The woman didn’t offer him what he just had dreamed about, but what she had – the sandwiches – was pretty good, too. She held one of the toasts in front of his mouth, and mortified, but driven by hunger, he let himself be fed and took a bite. Once started, he couldn’t contain himself and wanted to gorge the whole sandwich with a single bite. But the woman pulled it out of reach. Angry, he still tried to snap for it. With a firm grip, she pressed his head back on the mattress.

Heck, why did she first offer him food, but then didn’t let him eat? Why did she constantly have to torture him? “I know, that you like sandwiches, you talked in your sleep and fantasized about them.” She grinned. “I guess you really love them. I only don’t know what you meant with ‘Lucky, stop eating the Russian’?” questioningly, she raised a brow, but stopped, when she realized that Clint only had eyes for the food in her hand, and accordingly didn’t take notice of her speech. She drew his attention back to her. “Please take it slowly. I don’t want you to suffer from the refeeding syndrome.” Clint knew she wasn’t lying. As an S.H.I.E.L.D.-agent he was taught about its effects: Was the input of nutrients to high, the organs were overstrained, which caused seizures, apnea or coronary failure. In the end, it was absolutely deadly, and very dangerous, as it wasn’t easy for a starving person to hold back and don’t eat till the nagging hunger was appeased. Vaguely, Clint remembered the amount of calories he was allowed to ingest the next couple of days. If he wasn’t completely wrong, it was about 1000 per day. Man, that sucked, he wasn’t only peckish, and he guessed that a sandwich might have about 250 calories. So he wouldn’t be allowed to eat much - at least not as much as he would like to eat. The woman would take care about that. On the one hand that was a calming prospect, on the other hand, he was hungry, therefore not rational, and wasn’t happy or thankful at all for being only fed slowly bit by bit.

Finishing, the lady pressed a bottle against his lips again, and this time Clint managed to drink without choking. By now, the woman sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him fondly. Abruptly, she said: “You can call me Vhara.” Clint had troubles to read her lips from his position. The angle in which she sat to him was inappropriate, and staring at someone’s lips with only one eye as the other one was a bright shiner and still couldn’t be opened because of the swelling, was very exhausting. Faintly, he repeated her unusual name “Vhara.” His doubts, if he had understood the name right, where diminished when the woman smiled at him. Then she disappeared out of his view, and he nodded off.

A little later, Clint started up out of sleep but was immediately held back painfully by his bonds. He’d loved to change position as his arms deadened, but that wasn’t his primary concern right now. Something ice-cold had touched him. Again. He flinched. His body tensed, readying itself to fend off the attack. Only by and by, he recognized Vhara and that she had placed an ice pack on his black eye. Plainly, she excused herself: “Sorry about that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: “Lucky, stop eating the Russian”, Matt Fraction, #22


	12. Mine!

Chapter 12

In the following days, Vhara took care for Clint dedicatedly. She cleaned his wounds and bandaged them. Afterward, she washed him, and although Clint didn’t like to feel her hands all over his body, he was happy to get rid of all the dirt of the last days. Only, he would have preferred to keep his growing beard, as the feeling of a razor blade held by a Hydra member, gliding along his throat was rather frightening. Vhara also insisted on feeding him and didn’t care about Clint’s incessant nagging that he wasn’t a baby anymore and would quite sure find his mouth without her help. He had the impression that with his medical condition getting better, his jailer became more and more intrusive. The way she touched him was way too lascivious for someone who alleged to only nurse him. He hated that she treated him so affectionately. In his opinion, her behavior was completely wrong.

Clint could have stood being beaten to pulp better than her caressing. He was nauseated. In every free minute he pondered about how to escape – and he had a lot of time. Still, he couldn’t find a way out.

As if Vhara had read his mind, and realized that he wasn’t under her influence anymore, wasn’t even thinking of obeying her, she appeared one afternoon with a from Clint too well-known item: a shot filled with transparent liquid. Like always, she injected it into his neck. But this time, he would be cleverer. Following intuition, Clint closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer to heaven with the plea that the drug wouldn’t have an effect on him if no one told him that he was his or her slave. Hoping that not only an insane adopted guy, who wasn’t really a god (although he liked to state that) would hear it, he repeated his plea again and again.

The woman turned his head harshly in her direction to make him open his eyes. When he didn’t react, she looked at him angrily. Without hesitation, she covered his mouth with one hand and his nose with her other hand. Clint didn’t see that coming – in the truest sense of the word – and due to his surprise lost lots of valuable oxygen. However, he still refused to open his eyes. He believed that the indoctrination of his thoughts had to follow very quickly after the injection because he always passed out soon after it. So maybe, if he could make it till he was out cold, the drug wouldn’t work. He just had to wait. Clint wasn’t specially trained in diving. However, he liked to do it from time to time in his leisure, and therefore, he was able to hold his breath a little bit longer than an average person.

The grip of the woman tightened. For a second, Clint worried that marks of her hands would look ridiculous on his face. He felt how his oxygen reserves drew to a close and would have done a lot to be able to breathe. But he was not willing to give in. Time was on his side; surely he would pass out soon..

Vhara felt the lips of the archer under her moving. She was sitting, like so often in the last days, on his stomach and tried to force him open his eyes. But the stubborn man only squinched his eyes shut even more, and now he even smirked! She felt how his lips turned upwards and saw little wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. Actually, Vhara liked men who didn’t give in so fast. Men who still were “real” men and not sissies, which behaved worse than a diva with a broken nail.. But at the moment, time was against her, and she was too busy for games. She needed her prisoner to watch her so that he could read her lips. Till today, he declined to answer the questions where and why he had learned that skill. Sure, she could make him tell her his secret, but in the end, it didn’t matter. His abilities were useful for her and her plans, so she didn’t mind. After a while of deliberating her options intensively, Vhara knew what to do. A mischievous grin played around her lips. _You don’t want to open your eyes? Well, I have the right treatment for you_.. She hauled off and gave him a resounding slap.

Clint felt how the grip on his nose loosened and inhaled deeply. He already wanted to compliment himself that he had made it, and the woman – as he liked to refer to her because using her name was too personal, and with that kind of nickname he could keep a distance to her – had accepted that it wouldn’t make sense covering his face any longer. He started to feel dizzy but wasn’t afraid. Actually, he was looking forward to it, as he soon would pass out without being brainwashed. “Clint, you are a genius!” Not being able to complete his self-praise, his head was hurled sidewards, and his right cheek burned like fire. This malicious bloody bastard seriously had given him a whipping. In shock, he opened his eyes. Not because he couldn’t take a hit – no, he really went through worse – but simply because, again, he didn’t see it coming, and wasn’t prepared for it. He looked at the woman’s triumphing eyes, only to close his immediately again. If she thought he would read her lips now, she would get nowhere. Maybe he had made the impression that he was easy to handle, when he, to his anger, had begged for help when he almost starved, but he wasn’t.

With increasing irritation, Vhara watched how Clint looked at her baffled for a second, and then simply closed his eyes again. Bugged out, she sighed. Time was fleeting. It had to be done now! Once more she punched him and watched how the man’s face was catapulted on the right side this time. Red welts of her hand appeared on his skin. Too bad Clint didn’t react at all. He didn’t even flinch. Apparently, he had braced himself for another attack and wasn’t caught by surprise, which would have made him look at her like she had intended. Vhara thought about her possibilities intensely. She needed a solution. Now! Suddenly, she knew what to do. Standing up, she skeltered to the dresser, which was next to the bed in her room. Quickly, she opened the top drawer, rummaged around it, and finally found what she was searching for. Her smug smile returned on her face, and she sat down on Clint’s waist again. It simply was so comfy. So why should she sit on a boring chair?

Clint felt how something was shoved into his left ear. In a panic, he opened his eyes, tried to peer to it and find out what was going on. Although his ear was already damaged, he wasn’t keen on losing his hearing ability completely. 20% were better than nothing. Turning his head and struggling against his bonds, he wanted to avoid whatever the maniac was doing to him. But she seemed to have already finished her work because she stopped and said in a friendly tone: “Clint, look at me!” Wait! She said it! And he didn’t look at her, and he also knew that she talked to him in her way to sweet voice, which he had learned to hate so much right from the beginning. Bewildered, his eyes widened. He stuttered: “How..? Why..? I mean..” “Shh,” Vhara hushed him. Smilingly, she explained: “Well, to be honest, your hearing aid, which you have lost in the abandoned house, never has been damaged. I just kept it with the hope that it might be useful one day..” Furiously, Clint shouted at her: “Are you nuts? It’s not fair to play on the weak point of someone who is..” Clint struggled for words. In the end, he knew exactly what he was up to say, but he hated to speak it out loud. However, it was the truth, so he continued, albeit with a much lower voice: “someone who is disabled.” He wanted to go on with his rant, but seeming to appear from nowhere the woman conjured up a gag, shoved it into his mouth, and commanded with an icy voice: “Shut up Hawkeye! You should thank me for gaining back your hearing ability. It’s only one side, but still.. But don’t worry, I will teach you how to behave in the presence of your mistress. You belong to me, and you will follow my orders! Do you understand?” She paused, and Clint used the time to shake his head like mad in a useless attempt to get rid of the hearing aid before the woman could complete the indoctrination. But this bloody thing didn’t fell out of his ear and so he had to listen to the woman’s words: “This time the influence of the drug won’t subside so fast like the times before. There is too much of it in your system right now. You can’t fight against it. You are mine!”  



	13. Apropos nuts..

Chapter 13

Clint felt it before he opened his eyes. Another piece of his protecting wall was giving in slowly and impended to break down. He knew it wouldn’t take long till all gates opened and the woman would flood his brain with a wave of her ideas, which would wash away his own free will. As a result, he would be a puppet and she his puppeteer. He went through that before. However, this time being brainwashed was different to the other times. It was even crueler. The last times it happened fast. There was no time to think about it. Loki for example simply took his scepter, and that was it. The man only had needed a second to make him follow his orders. This time, taking his will happened slowly, very slowly and mentally fully aware. He realized how his identity slowly was wiped off; how he became a shadow of himself, but couldn’t do anything against it. He wasn’t broken. Not yet, but soon, and he had to sit there and watch like a casual bystander who couldn’t intervene. Physical he healed, mental he was a wreck.

Vhara tore him from his black mood by joining him again. Under different circumstances, Clint would have been happy about her appearance. Which guy wouldn’t like a woman in alluring lingerie in his bedroom? But Clint was afraid that now would take place what he had worried that it would happen. And right, seductively, the woman let slide her fingertips over his chest, down his belly to the elastic of his boxers. Smilingly, she looked up and searched for Clint’s eyes. Unhappy, he returned her look. Should he ask her to stop? He didn’t want her to explore his body curiously with her hands and eyes all over him. They had been at such a point already, and she had stopped before anything had happened. Maybe he was this lucky again, and would get something to eat instead, just like the last time?

His hope was dashed, when the woman bent down to kiss him on his mouth. Clint pressed his lips tightly together in disgust and turned his head away. - Even held his breath, so he didn’t have to smell her fragrance. Though, still, he tasted her scent on his lips and would have given a lot to get rid of it somehow. Disappointment flashed across the face of the woman and was covered quickly by an intimidating expression. Rude, she took Clint’s head with both of her hands in a tight grip and kissed him again. This time she squeezed his cheeks so that he had to open his mouth and let her in. Her tongue went in his mouth, and he had the urge to brush his teeth with a ton of soap. On the other side, he didn’t fight as much against it, as he liked to and even could do. It was odd, and he couldn’t explain it to himself, but somehow he felt like he had to give in and let it happen. Vhara desisted from him, grinning at him like an enamored teenage girl, who just had kissed her crush for the first time. Then she stood up to get something from the commode.

Clint followed her motions with his eyes and gave a groan. Please, not the unpickable metal handcuffs. At the moment his hands were restrained on the sides of his body with padded chains. Vhara had decided to do so when Clint’s hands hadn’t had adequate circulation and turned into an alarming blue. The man had been incredibly relieved about this position changing. Now, he knew instinctively that she would fix his hands again at the headboard. He couldn’t let that happen. The risk of damaged hands would be too high. Collecting all his courage, he asked: “Vhara?” Saying her name made him uncomfortable, but he got what he wanted: her undivided attention. Questioningly, she raised a brow. Convinced that yelling at her wouldn’t be helpful, he tried a new tactic, and as softly as he could, he said: “Please don’t use these.” The woman already was up to reply angrily, but Clint went on unperturbed: “Look, I know you want to change the position in which I’m bound to this _(fucking)_ bed.” Of course, he didn’t speak out loud the f-word; only screamed it in his mind, and forced himself to have a cooing voice. If she could talk to him in such a tone, he could do that as well. It seemed to work, as she followed his speech attentively. Clint continued: “I also know that I have to be handcuffed as your prisoner.” ‘ _No, it wouldn’t be necessary, if you stupid whore simply would lock me up in a room and leave me the hell alone!’_ screamed the voice in Clint’s head again. “But I’m an archer..” Impatiently, the woman interrupted him: “So what?” A moment, he pondered if it really was a wise idea to tell her that he constantly worried about his hands. When he was held captive by someone else, he never mentioned it and played cool, but this time he had the feeling if he wouldn’t explain it to her now that he maybe would never have to be afraid of damage as it would be too late. So he desperately blurted out: “The rigid metal could injure my hands, and although I am ambidextrous I need them both to shoot. Can’t you bind me with ropes again?” Silently, he added in his mind: _“Or even better: use nothing at all.”_

Instead of giving an answer, the woman got to her feet and left the room. Clint followed her with his eyes, completely confused. Did he just aggravate his situation? Why did she leave? A couple of minutes passed by, in which Clint ran through all the options, what could probably happen next. Then the woman came back, smiling and holding silken blue ropes in her hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t bear in mind that this could happen.” Now, Clint was baffled completely. She really cared for him and didn’t take advantage of her knowledge. Silk was even better than the rough ropes, and as long as there was enough blood flowing through his veins, he didn’t have to worry. He only couldn’t figure out how the hell the woman was able to organize such ropes in a Hydra base and decided that he actually didn’t want to find out the answer.

Kindly, she offered him the opportunity to use the ropes instead of the metal if he wouldn’t act up during the position changing, and Clint agreed. Anew, the rebelling voice in his head incited him to hit the woman unconscious as soon as one hand would be free, and abscond, but when the time had come, his body didn’t move an inch. As much as he wanted. He simply couldn’t. The moment passed by, and he had to look on helplessly how he let elapse a chance to flee, which he might never get again.

Contently, Vhara looked at the archer’s arms, which she had bound artfully above his head with his wrists crossed. She didn’t want to let him suffer. Given to the fact that she had no problem to punch him till he bled, that sounded rather strange to a bystander, but it made a difference for her. Her little Hawk was tough enough to handle being beaten, but if he wouldn’t be able to do archery anymore, he would be broken. Of course, breaking him was her goal, but only in a way that he would follow her orders, and not that he would lose his will to live. She had the impression that he’d been at this point a couple of times since he was here, and promised herself to take better care that this wouldn’t happen again. Obviously, as she already had noticed, beneath his rough exterior was a soft core, which he tried to hide. But she spotted it and therefore liked him even more. Overwhelmed by her feelings, she leaned down to kiss him once more. There was no response from the man’s side, but she didn’t care. Surely, he just needed time to adjust to the situation. Playfully, she licked his ear and sucked his earlobe, hearing how his breathing went faster. Good, he liked it.

Clint sensed the wet tongue of the woman gliding along his hearing aid and the slight nibbling on his earlobe. It made his hair stand on end, and his breath shortened. It would happen now! He wasn’t ready and pinched himself in his hand to make him wake up, but of course, that didn’t happen. Instead, the woman sucked on his nipples and bit them slightly. Inadvertently, Clint moaned and began to shake. Unerringly, she had found one of his sensitive spots. He easily could be brought on the edge just by that. Knowing that, he had to act now. Furiously, because he didn’t like what the woman did to him, he opened his mouth to say: “Hey, stop that shit and get off of me!” He managed to utter his discontent, but it sounded in a weird way distorted, as something inside him hold him back of saying it and it cost him a lot of strength to speak out loud those words. All he got in return was a slap on his cheek and the icy command: “Don’t take that tone with me!” Then the woman simply went on where she had been interrupted. Not caring what the woman wanted, Clint continued to make mean comments – or at least he tried. He felt how the drug started to influence his decisions and made him shut his mouth instead of yelling at the woman. His throat felt constricted. Not a single word slipped over his lips. His head hurt extremely and Clint was worried that it would burst any second, cause that was how it felt like. Only when he stopped trying to say something impolite to the Hydra member this feeling eased off and he could relax a little bit. He sighed deeply when he realized that he couldn’t say anything rude because of the order to not talk to her in such a tone. But he had to do something to stop the assault. So in pure desperation how he could do that, he forgot about his vow to not plead again and play tough instead, and begged to avert the inevitable: “Don’t do this! Please, I don’t want this!” The woman let go of him unwillingly. “Shut up and enjoy!” Unbelievingly, Clint stared at her slack-jawed. “Enjoy?! You are going to rape me, and I should enjoy that?” His voice cracked when he wanted to add a sarcastic: “No wonder that even your Hydra boys don’t wanna fuck with you to climb up the greasy pole if you have such weird ideas about how good sex works and if you take what you want anyway.” He sighed. The effects of the drug had shown him once again who had the control over his body. – It obviously wasn’t him. “I’m not raping you!” countered the woman. “Of course you are! Rape is the lack of consent, and I don’t consent!” disagreed Clint enraged and fought against the suddenly upcoming feeling of enjoyment inside him that seemed to be caused by the woman’s instruction to relish the situation.

Pretending she didn’t hear what the marksman had to say, the woman continued kissing a trace on his skin and blew over it slightly. The airflow sent chills all over his body when it went over the wet areas. Feeling how his dick stiffened, he took all his energy to yell at her to stop it. As this, of course, didn’t work because to do so he would have had to adopt the wrong tone which he was forbidden to do, he begged again: “Please don’t! Why are you doing this to me? I thought I’m here to help you with Vision. Please stop. Please!” He whimpered and tried to cross his legs when the woman pulled down his boxers and reached for his cock. To his misery, his attempt didn’t work in his straddled position. The kissing along the indentation left by the waistband drove him crazy. Gosh, he didn’t even know he was sensitive there as well and hardened even more. When he realized it, he felt extremely humiliated. “ _It’s just a physical reaction. It doesn’t mean anything. S’all okay, Clint.”_ He reassured himself, but that didn’t help. So to distract himself from what was going on, he pictured how Hulk would look like in a tutu. Gosh, the color contrast of green and rose would be terrible. Not helping, though, there was only one way out: He had to come as fast as possible, then he wouldn’t need to endure this for so long. “Today totally sucks.” A moment, he grinned weakly about his unintended pun. Then he closed his eyes and imagined how Bobbi fondled him. Pretending that it was his ex kissing every inch of his skin was easier to bore. Unfortunately, a moaned “Bobbi” slipped his lips, and the woman stopped dead in tracks.

A firm tug on a handful hair and being slapped in his face brought him back to reality. By now, Clint felt like a punching bag and flinched when the woman upon him spat: “Keep your eyes open and never again dare to pretend I am someone else!” When she assured herself that her captive didn’t dare to – or better said couldn’t look away anymore, she continued where she had stopped. She left a pattern on his skin, coming closer to his cock, which was by now as solid as a rock. Unsuccessfully, he squirmed under her grip to get away. When that wasn’t successful, he whined: “Stop touching me!” Tears streamed over his face and he quickly tried to blink them away and say with a steadier voice: “Please, don’t rape me.” Suddenly, the woman yanked his head back, tearing once more on his hair, exposing his neck. Slowly, she let her teeth glide over it. Scared, Clint shivered. Abruptly, the woman stopped and looked him intimidatingly in his eyes. “You said rape is intercourse without consent, right?” The archer didn’t have the heart to move and fought to keep his breath under control, which wasn’t that easy, as he had a lot to do with suppressing sobs, so that his tears, for which he was extremely ashamed but couldn’t hold back, fell only in silence. “Well, but you _DO_ consent!” Clint’s fear grew even more. “You are my boy, and I’ve told you to enjoy, so relax and let it happen.”

_Her boy                                hers                       obey                     surrender            comply_

_follow                   behave                bow down          submit                  execute the command_

_be obedient       give in                   stop resisting                                   let it happen.._

Words which she often had used while talking to him resounded in his head. Suddenly, due to the way the woman spoke to him, something in his brain made “click”, and he stopped fighting against her. He still wanted but wasn’t able to do so anymore. So he didn’t go on begging Vhara to cease from having sex with him. He was hers, and she wanted him to let her fuck him. Orders were orders. Slowly, his tears subsided, and he submitted himself, although it was rather involuntarily, to her.

Happy, Vhara watched the change in the archer’s behavior. Finally! He had been a hard nut to crack, but now he was where she wanted him. Apropos nut.. It couldn’t be denied that he was really well endowed. The young lady licked over her lips in a thrill of anticipation and looked forward to taking care for this particular part of his body. But before she did so, she allowed herself to dream a little bit again and already imagined the attractive man on his knees locking submissively up to her and pleasing her. It turned her on, and she had to caution herself that this time would come, but not now. She shouldn’t overstrain her new toy. He seemed tired, and so she made do with sucking his dick and making him come in her hands. Slowly, Vhara licked over the top of his cock.

Clint was on the edge. He wouldn’t make it any longer. However, what concerned him more was the fact that he knew that he didn’t want her to do that, but whenever he wanted to move or say something, he couldn’t. It felt like running against a wall of glass. So that’s how the drug worked. He was a prisoner in his own body. His more or less unclouded mind was locked in, and his body carried out orders he didn’t want to do. He had always been convinced that getting his mind pulled out and something else stuffed in would be the worst scenario that could happen, but he wasn’t so sure about that anymore. Even crying didn’t work any longer because Vhara had told him to enjoy it. Crying wouldn’t fulfill her order. And by god, he really wasn’t a crybaby, but still, he wanted to weep because, as he had learned during the last days, it could provide relief.

When he finally reached orgasm and came in her hands, he was pleased and desolated at once. He felt used, and what he most liked to do now was taking a shower, and being for the rest of his life on his own. Instead of doing so, he heard himself whispering: “Thanks, Mistress,” and would have loved to punch himself through the whole universe for saying that. This definitely wasn’t him anymore.


	14. Hold on a sec

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather long, but I didn’t want to split it into two parts. I hope you don’t mind :)  
> So let’s go on with the story and heat things up a little bit..

Chapter 14

As soon the woman had left him, Clint wanted to curl up into a little ball, wrapping his arms around his knees and pull a blanket over him, so that even his hair would be covered and he could pretend like a little kid that he was invisible. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible due to him still being constrained to the bed. He had let happen what the woman had wanted, just like she had said. So he kind of consented to it and therefore, it was as per definition no violation. Nevertheless, Clint felt like he was the victim of a prison rape. He only had agreed because he had been unable to do something else. So was his acceptance really an agreement? Not being sure as one side of him said no and the other side, which was unfamiliar to him, but strong, said yes, he was torn inside. It took him ages to fall asleep, but finally, he was overcome by tiredness, which pulled him into a fitful sleep plagued by nightmares. Clint tossed and turned within the limitation of his bonds, and wouldn’t he have asked for other cuffs than the metal ones, he certainly would have injured himself unintentionally during this night.

 

A delicious smell woke him up the following morning. He sniffed. Coffee! He was addicted to this beverage and given to the fact, that he hadn’t had the chance to drink it for quite a long time, he already was happy having the opportunity to inhale its scent deeply. Vhara had entered the room with a steaming coffee cup. With a bright smile, she approached to him. “Hey honey, I’ve made you coffee, thought you like it. Don’t worry it’s no canteen slipslop. Do you want some caffeine?” Clint chose not to hear the pet name, as well as he didn’t care for his misreading. - He had accidentally read “coffin” instead of “caffeine”, but given to the circumstances it was obviously time for the brown brew and not time for a casket – well at least not yet.

Coffee! The first genuine smile since a long period crossed his face. This reaction was answer enough for the woman. “Yes, I already thought so. If you behave well, you will get to drink a cup.” With these words, she sipped on the mug, put it aside and watched how the glance of the archer first followed the cup and then was concentrated on her lips, where a little bit of the coffee stayed. Perfect! Just like she had planned. “Are you ready to earn you some coffee?” teased she him. Eagerly he nodded. “I want to hear it!” demanded she. The addressed remarked: “I’m ready.” As this seemed not to be enough for the woman, Clint sighed and added: “I will take your orders.” Inwardly, however, the last remains of his own will yelled: _“Screw you! Give me the coffee already and fuck off, you maniac!”_ But the glass ceiling built by Hydra in his mind prevented those words from reaching the surface.

Clint was seriously worried that he would go crazy sooner or later. No one could stand two voices constantly bickering in one’s head, with the one side - which wasn’t yours - always prevailing and letting you do the exact opposite of what you really wanted to. He could only hope that he was lucky enough, that his own voice would die soon. Weird, wasn’t it? All the years he had done his best to protect his will, and still at the very moment he would be relieved if it was gone. But he didn’t think rational. Peace was all that he longed for. Something he only could reach if one side would shut up, and he was realistic enough to know that it wouldn’t be Hydra’s voice which would fall silent. Embittered with a hint of sarcasm, he admitted silently in his thoughts: “Life couldn’t get better.”

Vhara was in a sunshiny mood. Everything just went perfectly. Never would she have dared to dream about finding her future husband at work. Quite the contrary, she even called people who claimed to have found their partner for life as pathetic. And now she was here with her love in one room, and he accepted her. That his behavior was only caused because she helped along a little bit, didn’t dampen her high spirits. She only needed time to show him how wonderful life with her would be. Then, undoubtingly, he would love her with or without his mind being messed up. She already dreamed about leading together with him this Hydra unit, or maybe they would simply run away.

Sure, Hydra was all her life, there wasn’t anything else. Never had been, since someone from the organization had picked her up from streets and gave her a chance to survive. She smiled slightly when she had this vivid recollection. In this matter, Clint’s and her background stories were almost similar. Only he had been recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D., and she became a member of the concurrence back then. But that didn’t have to mean that they couldn’t be a couple, right? Well, if she was honest with herself, it was a problem, and that was the reason why she was willing to give up her hitherto existing life. It wouldn’t be easy, but with both of them being highly trained agents, having knowledge of both organizations and their methods, it should be doable to hide from them. Maybe they could even make a profit out of it. Her plan was to make Clint get the infinity stone like officially planned by Hydra, and then to sneak away with the priceless jewelry – and with “priceless jewelry” she meant both: the stone and the archer. So all she had to do was showing Clint the sweet life with her, which shouldn’t be that difficult. She was aglow with happiness. Life couldn’t get better!

Being aware that she dreamed in front of Clint, who still stared longingly at the coffee, she had to pull herself together. Gee, he was such a gorgeous coffeeholic. A real cutie. Looking good enough to eat! And that was exactly what she would do right now. Some love bites surely would suit him extraordinarily well.

Shortly, she pondered whether she should blindfold him. Only this morning, she had subducted his hearing aid again and together with his blindness it would make a perfect mixture. The imagination of him being enchained in such a helpless way and completely concentrated on her lips on his skin turned her on, but she knew it wasn’t the time for such games right now.

A moment, anger almost ruined her good temper. Everything that would be fun had to be deferred until later. So annoying. Still, she forced herself to patience and inserted the hearing aid back into his ear. First, she had to make sure, that he liked making out with her. If she took away all his senses right from the beginning, it was possible that he would pretend again that someone else would please him. With envy, her mouth corners turned down. She had to take care for Bobbi later. Her chin jutted. As far as she knew, she was Clint’s ex-wife. Still, she wanted to reduce every temptation, so she had to get rid of her. But not now. That was a task for later as well. Besides, she loved the unique, indescribable expression in the archer’s eyes and noticing little things like him having a speck of gray in his blue eyes. Hearing Clint cough brought her back to present. Where had they got to? Oh, right, he had ensured his obedience and wanted some coffee in return. He could have that.

Gently, the woman cupped his face and came close to kiss him. Obediently, he parted his lips. She had the scent of coffee on her lips, and he licked over them to taste the flavor of his favorite beverage. A second, he stopped reluctantly, not being sure if the woman liked it that he took the initiative. But she dispelled his concerns by letting her teeth graze his bottom lip gently, biting it slightly and stating that he should go on. What he did. After quite a while, his lips were swollen from kissing her, and he looked into her with joy beaming face. Actually, he had enough now. He had the taste of coffee on his tongue, and that was all what he wanted. He knew that his behavior wasn’t a feat, but he really was into coffee, and nobody would know, right? The woman, however, had different plans. Clint sighed. Being aware that what happened yesterday would repeat, he braced himself. Well, as good as someone can, who is going to be sexual assaulted and couldn’t do anything about it.

With a dominant voice, that was used to give orders, the woman commanded: “Stay as you are. Don’t move!” Clint raised a brow. He was tied to a bed - otherwise, he would be gone longe ago. So how the hell should he move? His silent question was answered, by Vhara freeing him from said bonds. He was free! Clint met her with disbelief. Now he simply could go and.. Why the heck couldn’t he move his body? Awww, the drug. In his joy over being free, he had forgotten about that. Disappointment and bitterness spread inside him. Would have been too easy anyway.

Suddenly, he stood up and kneeled down next to the bed. A second, Clint was baffled, but then he remembered that the woman had ordered him to do so, while he was lost in thought. Great, if his body worked on his own, he didn’t have to stay there, right? He could think of something else. The boss had forbidden him to think about another person, but what about a monkey on a unicycle? Would that be possible? Or he could solve the enigma about Banner’s untearable trousers..

The woman tugged on his hair and made him look up. Warningly, she placed her free hand on his throat. “Don’t dare to think about anyone or anything else. This will be awesome.” Crap, he should have known better, since his last plan had failed so gloriously.

Vhara sat down on a chair but still towered above the man on his knees, who crossed his hands behind his back. She allowed herself to enjoy the sight before she ran her fingers through his hair and messed them up. Oh, she could do that all day. It simply felt so good. Her boy looked so cute with his hair sticking out in all directions that she sat back and again stared at him for quite a while.

Clint wanted to shift, as he was uncomfortable with being eyeballed. However, the woman had told him to stay still, and that’s what he did. Scowling, he thought that it would have been better if he still would be attached to the bed. By now, he was used to the fact that he knocked all his former ideals on the head. In the past, he would never have preferred being cuffed, but now he did, as it would have made it easier for him to excuse himself for not escaping. Being free and still not able to take a flight made him feel like a stupid loser and scratched on his dignity. Automatically, he kissed the woman, when she pressed her lips on his. Like she told him, he helped her out of her lingerie, which this time was completely black with a tiny red bow in the middle of her bra. Barely finished, his head was pressed down firmly between her legs, which she wound around his upper body like a vise. Knowing what the woman expected from him, he started to lick her tentatively, while she let her hands ran through his hair, not loosening her legs around him. Clint felt how she went wet and circled her clit with his tongue. Soon he was out of air though and nearly suffocated. Panicky, he tapped on her leg. Understanding, she shifted to let him breathe. Then, she yanked him by the hair back in his position with the words “What are you waiting for? Get your head between my legs,” and he had to go on. It wasn’t romantic at all and although the archer got intimate as intimate someone can get with somebody else, he never in his life had felt less connected with another person than right now. But he did understand that this wasn’t about his feelings or his needs. This was about unquestioning obedience and the woman’s way to show him his place.

Clint was astounded finding himself aroused, when she shoved him on the bed, again a hand lightly grasped around his throat. The woman was completely in control, pinned him on the mattress, and he noticed how he got weaker. Being manhandled like this, he felt a little bit like an Omega from a fanfiction, who often didn’t want to mate with his opponent, but due to his physical condition couldn’t defend himself, as the body function took over, and the Omega begged for being fucked, although a minute ago he would have given everything to avoid that.

Without big effort, Vhara pushed Clint around pretty easily and loved it. She just was about to heat things up, when she heard him splutter: “Whoa, whoa, hold on a sex.. a sec..” The silent _“dammit Clint”_ was almost visibly written on his forehead, and Vhara laughed about how he, abashed by his Freudian slip, made a grimace. He soon recovered from losing his poise, though, and continued his stammering: “What about..” His uncertain look, whether he was allowed to ask or not made Vhara’s heart jump. Curious about what concerned him, she leaned forward and tilted her head, but didn’t stop letting her hands roam over his chest softly and teasing him by twisting his nipples slightly. Her behavior obviously encouraged the man under her to go on, as he exclaimed only one word breathily: “Rubber?” Vhara sighed and paused for a moment. She would have loved to feel how he came deep inside her, but she knew that this would be unreasonable in the current situation. As soon as Clint would be her boyfriend officially, she would change that, however. The imagination of starting a family with him, being far away from all those power plays between different organizations, and having running around a couple of baby hawks was pretty appealing to her. A normal life with a loving husband, like anyone else got.. Lost in thought, she bent over to the nightstand and took a condom out of the drawer.

Again, Clint got the instruction to don’t move, and with relief, he noticed that the woman rolled on a condom over his already erected member. Thank goodness, no little hawks! He felt her hand gliding up and down his shaft, squeezing it lightly, only so much that it caused an amazing sensation without really hurting. She went on stroking him more roughly, twisting her wrist and rubbing his balls. The feelings she caused by doing so were more than awesome, but nevertheless, he bit his lip to stop himself from deep guttural moaning. After all, he still didn’t want it, right? Or did he? Again, he was confused which feelings were his own and which were just caused by the drug.

Wet lips went down all the length of him. Slowly and searching for eye contact, the woman dragged back her head and swirled the tongue around the tip, where precum leaked. Although the condom was already there, she licked over it and grinned at him naughtily. Again, she moved her mouth up and down his now with her saliva soaked cock. However, she suddenly seemed to have lost interest in giving him a blowjob, as she went on exploring his abdominal muscles with kisses. Clint knew that she just teased him and soon would go on, but was still surprised when she pursed her lips tight around his shaft again. After repeating this motion a couple of times, she backed off and went on with the stimulation with less intense.

Clint never had a girl who loved to edge him so much, and to his shame, his moaning went louder. Immediately, he suppressed it. He wanted to tell her to stop. However, first of all, the drugs prevented him from doing so and second, his body took over control and desperately wanted the woman to go on. She really knew what she was doing, as she managed to not overdo it and kept it a pleasure for him instead of pain. Well, at least physically..

When he came close, she pulled her mouth away and started licking and sucking his inner thigh area right by his crotch. Clint clenched his fists in the sheets, his knuckles turning white. Her teasing made him go crazy. Without shame, he started to plead and beg, but the unrelenting woman only giggled and circled the tip of his cock with her tongue. Oh, he was so close and started bucking around in a helpless attempt to come. Instead of letting him, she teased him further. Heavy panting, he exclaimed: “Please, let me come!” Suddenly, the hands which fondled him grabbed his face and forced him to look in the woman’s eyes. With a harsh voice, she ordered: “No, not yet!” Clint whined: “I wanna come. Please, why are you doing this to me?” Unmoved she asked him: “Are you really ready to come?” Hell, what a question! Of course, he was! A single desperate “Yeah!” slipped his mouth. A moment Vhara leaned back and threw an evaluating glance at him. Then she decided maliciously: “I don’t think so.” She drew her attention back to his cock, quickly licked over the shaft one last time and kissed her way up the belly. She would have loved to drag on the orgasm denial game, but from the archer was almost only a gasping, quivering mess left that wouldn’t last much longer, and she had bigger plans with him than that. So she made a little mental note that she had to train with her boy on his endurance, before she went on with finding out what else he still had to learn and what she could teach him.

Vhara’s soft lips, which brushed his skin lightly, sent shivers down Clint’s spine. She left a patch of kisses over his body, down from his crotch up to his hardening nipples. From time to time, she paused to moan into a kiss, which made his skin vibrate slightly and sent down even more chills, so he had goosebumps all over his body. She spent a lot of time circling his nipples with her tongue and sucking on them, as she had learned the day before how sensitive the archer was there. Then she went on with her way upwards. Possessively, she licked over his, from him bending his head back to stare at the ceiling to get as far away from the situation as possible, exposed neck. With a sudden bite, she broke his skin at his collarbone close to his throat, which made him scream in surprise, pain, and - to his own bewilderment - in arousal. Blood trickled out of the wound. By now, he definitively felt like a male Omega, who just had been claimed by his Alpha, and although he wanted to sound angry, he just whimpered when he asked: “What the hell are you doin’?” When he got no reaction, only felt how fingers twisted his nipples again, he exclaimed desperately: “You’re going to put me over the edge. I can’t any longer..” “No, not now!” warningly she clenched his throat, making him choke. His eyes watered and his head turned red. Immediately, she loosened her grip and laid her fingers consolingly on his cheek. “Shh, everything is fine. You’re doing good.”

Actually, she wanted to say some more reassuring words, but a strong knock on the door made her flinch. Startled like little kids who did something forbidden, Clint and Vhara looked into each other eyes. Finally, she overcame her shock. “You gonna wait for me here!” commanded she. “Yes, mistress”, Clint heaved a sigh. What else should he do? He watched her how she threw something on, fixed her hair, and went disgruntled to the door. She opened it only so much that she could squeeze herself through the gap, immediately closed the door, and left a highly aroused, from desperation whimpering man behind, who badly wanted to touch himself to finish it, but couldn’t because he wasn’t allowed to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: “Whoa, whoa, hold on a sex..a sec” - Matt Fraction, Hawkeye #8


	15. Everything for coffee

Chapter 15

Clint almost couldn’t bear the building sexual tension any longer. So like so often in the last time, he tried to distract himself by thinking about something else. However, his thoughts wanted to deal with only one subject: sex. It was like there were big clouds or kind of a fog that prevented him from taking his mind off things. As much as he wanted, he couldn’t blow the cobwebs away. He realized that he wouldn’t be able to find another topic, so he had to make the best out of it. Maybe if he would contemplate everything in an academic way it would turn him off. A word like “algolagnia” really didn’t sound sexy. For a moment he cogitated on why the hell such a word appeared in his head and remembered that he had looked it up once. - For research purposes only of course. What was it? A fetish for ravaging a partner? No, that was anophelorastia. He had looked that word up as well. Abashed, he grinned. When he had looked that up, he had been bored, okay? And all right, he sometimes felt like Cap, when Tony talked about his sex life, and he didn’t understand a word. So he had wanted to be prepared for the next time when Tony would boast and make him feel like an inexperienced virgin.. And by the way, it had taken him a hell amount of time to memorize these words. That’s why he had made it only to the words which started with ‘A’ in the alphabetical list.

The marksman centered his attention back on his original thought. So what was algolagnia again? Oh, yes, a fetish for pain. Hmm, hopefully, the woman wasn’t into those kinks too much. On the other side, she loved to manhandle him, and he could imagine that she could increase the roughness. The fact alone that she had seriously bitten him spoke volumes. Besides, she really had a thing for grabbing his throat. He was convinced that there would be dark bruises in the shape of her fingers the next day. Clint started wiggling, and a groan escaped his lips. He was so damn close that it hurt but didn’t dare to come without permission.

Reentering the room, Vhara tossed away her clothes crotchety. These idiots had disturbed her without reason. A group of her agents had been killed in a trap of S.H.I.E.L.D. So what? She didn’t care about the men. They had been part of a rather insignificant unit, which was only there to distract S.H.I.E.L.D. from their bigger plans. Sure, it was unusual that S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t arrested them, and had killed them instead, but still: Why such a fuss? Did those idiots didn’t understand that it was better this way, as dead agents couldn’t give away information? They should be happy instead of being upset. Still being angry, she sat down on the squirming man and slapped him in the face without warning. The archer winced and stared at her, only to close his eyes quickly to take the next hit. Vhara let out all her rage and watched how his handsome face immediately bore the result of her actions by turning red and enjoyed how her victim tried to bear it with dignity and suppressed making noises of pain, but finally whimpered at every hit he took. After a few more slaps, she stopped, panted heavily and brushed her red hair that fell shaggily over her face out of it.

Carefully, Clint opened first one eye, then the other one as well. His face felt in a weird way burning like fire and numb at the same time. And there was something else, too, which he couldn’t relate to anything. It felt like his body was flooded with endorphins. Suddenly, his pain tolerance seemed to increase; the ache disappeared and made place for an overwhelmingly warm and floaty sensation. Everything around him started fading away. Only the woman’s face, her voice and her touch were present. The feeling grew and panic-stricken, he noticed how his ability to focus on the reality disappeared. He didn’t understand what was happening. The only thing he knew was that he had to fight it. If he disconnected from reality, he wouldn’t be able to stop the woman from ravaging his body completely. Okay, right now he wasn’t in this position, too, but in a pinch, he still could beg and hope that the woman would have mercy. But if he was gone, unable to speak, unable to feel pain, would mentally shut down.. This really would be bad. What the hell happened to him?

Finally, he realized that he was on the way to drop into subspace. He had heard about it but had never thought that this would be possible for him, as he saw in himself rather a top than a bottom. Above all, he wasn’t into Dom/Sub games. For his own sake, he put the blame on the drugs he was exposed to and fought against the order of the woman, who continued hitting him, to thank her for every hit he had to take. It was a pointless fight, but still, he had to lead it to proof himself that he had at least a little bit of self-respect left. It wasn’t visible on the outside, though. Clint was aware of it and hated that fact. He felt ashamed for his behavior, but no matter how hard he fought against his obedience, he found no way out. He was trapped and felt like being buried alive. He lived, but it wasn’t his life anymore. Sooner or later, he always gave in and was disappointed about himself. And so he also took orders this time: BAM! “Thank you, mistress.” BAM! “Thank you, mistress.” With each time he spoke, his voice went more and more slurred. After a while - his face was swollen and covered in green and blue bruises - he was rewarded with a “good boy”.

Gently, the woman’s fingers brushed over his maltreated face. Although what was going on was quite a degradation for the proud archer, he by now was way too much in subspace and unable to think about it. The sensation that had been caused in him had been too tempting to withstand it, despite having trust issues. It had overcome his panic and once he had let go – had been okay with the fact that everything around him went fuzzy - his body relaxed. His breath stopped being fitful. It went slow and regular. Mentally, despite the woman had forbidden it, he drifted off with his thoughts. Went to a safe place, which Hydra hadn’t found yet. They couldn’t as he himself hadn’t known it before. Therefore, it was a place, which wasn’t infiltrated. Belonged only to him. An area which was filled with peace. One last time, something in his mind warned him that he would leave a very vulnerable body behind if he would go on, but he didn’t care and took the next step. Dropping into subspace was not solely dangerous. It was at the same time his savior. - Protected him from what was going on and from what he couldn’t cope with any longer. The calm was deceptive, but by now he was beyond reason. He – or better said his body - simply worked on its own.

In the next moment, he found the woman atop of him riding his cock, throwing her head back in pleasure, making sounds that more sounded like moans from a wild animal than from a human being. Although it was rather loud, it seemed to be far, far away for Clint. After a while, she dragged him into a sitting position, not stopping moving her hips rhythmically. When she sped up, she dug her fingernails deep into the flesh of his back, leaving scratch marks all over his skin, but Clint didn’t even realize it. They exchanged passionate kisses, and their tongues led a battle, while the woman messed up his hair, and he let his hands glide up and down the sides of her like she had told him to do.

Vhara shifted to be able to suck on his throat. Pressing her lips firmly on Clint’s skin, she left a hickey on him. It was like marking her territory. Eagerly she left another one on his shoulder by sucking on her chosen area for about twenty seconds.

Clint felt how the woman left love bites on his upper body. Somehow it disturbed his subspace experience and brought him back to reality, albeit not completely. He didn’t know what to think about the fact, that she marked him and that the whole world would be able to see that he belonged to her. At least, it wasn’t as painful as the real bite had been. He really didn’t need a repetition of that again. Although he had to admit that it had been a pretty interesting experience. Something he never had before.. Still, he longed for his dagger so that he could get rid of it – the sign that he was hers - by cutting it out.

Suddenly, he was flipped around with a grip a wrestler would have been proud of and found himself on top of the woman. He didn’t expect that and was out of his depth. With an authoritative voice, she made clear that she still was in charge: “Take me now!” Clint didn’t need to be told that twice, and although he started slowly first, he soon thrust vigorously into the woman. It was his duty. He felt a firm grip on his ass, which directed him to go even deeper. When he did so, the woman leaned back and enjoyed it visibly, while Clint had to do all the work.

Again Vhara moaned in pleasure. Only one time she ordered him to let her see his eyes, but soon was overwhelmed by the awesome feelings Clint caused in her and couldn’t keep up the eye contact herself. He really knew how to pleasure a woman.

A second, jealousy of the girls, which had made it possible for Clint to learn how to fuck someone this way, flared up again, but she pushed it aside, as she didn’t want the moment ruined by that. They were both grown up. Of course, the archer wasn’t a virgin anymore. She realized how Clint almost couldn’t hold back any longer and had beads of sweat on his forehead. As she was close as well, she didn’t tease him anymore and allowed him to proceed. Secretly, she wished that her chosen one wouldn’t be so silent. Aside from moaning from time to time, which especially happened when she hit him, he didn’t make a sound. Yes, he had begged, and she had loved hearing him like that, but he had bitten his lips to shut his mouth way too soon. Actually, she especially loved hearing the noises men made as they came. But Clint was, as long as he didn’t wise crack or talked big, a rather quiet person, so she didn’t expect him to come out of his shell and let her hear his beautiful voice.

Finally, Clint climaxed, looking deeply and intensively into her eyes. His pupils were dilated, his eyes wide and mysteriously dark. Vhara could read pure, pleasurable sensation in them. The hidden sadness stayed unnoticed from her. With a smile, she only noticed how the archer closed his eyes, enjoyed (in her opinion) visibly the moment and suddenly wasn’t that quiet anymore. Vhara regretted her decision of giving him a condom, as his cum inside her would surely have felt awesome but stopped thinking when she started to quiver and also came with a massive orgasm.

Heavy panting, both of them stared into each other eyes. Clint leaned still over her, supporting himself with his – because of almost dying of starvation - not anymore so muscular arms on the mattress, so his full weight wouldn’t lie on the petite woman beneath him. Uncertain what to do now, as he had fulfilled her orders, he looked at her waiting for new instructions. Eventually, he was dragged on the bed, so he lay on his back next to her. He looked at the woman with big eyes when she reached for his penis, already wanting to state that he wouldn’t manage another round, but somehow Vhara seemed to have divined his thoughts as she reassured him promptly by stating that she only wanted to clean him up, and letting her words become actions.

Finishing that, and after she had taken a quick shower, she lied down beside him, wandered with her left hand softly over his chest and belly and remembered what someone had advised her once: “Aftercare is important. It’s insignificant what you do, as long as it makes your partner feel loved and safe. Otherwise, he might start feeling worthless after you showed him your power, hit him and made him do everything you want.” So she whispered his name and how good he did. Ran her hands through his hair and cuddled him. Then she leaned in for a kiss and encouraged Clint to intensify the kiss on his own wish. First Clint hesitated. But when he was sure that this wasn’t a trick of the woman to have a reason to punish him because he took the lead, and realized that he even had to kiss her as it was actually a hidden order of her, he gently sucked on her lower lip, and french kissed her. Again, Vhara praised him that he had been wonderful for their first night together and Clint smiled slightly, although he felt devastated on the inside and only wanted to run away by the prospect of more of those nights he had to spend involuntarily with the woman.

Exhausted, Clint fell asleep, while Vhara still stroked his back. Only now, she detected the scars, which were all over his body and actually hard not to notice. But in the heat of the moment, she hadn’t pay attention to it. There were small ones. Bigger ones. Some which already faded, and some which looked rather fresh and partially dangerous. Still pensive from what just had happened, she traced every cicatrice with her fingertip and imagined what could have happened to her boy. It didn’t disfeature him. Quite the contrary. She even pondered about marking him permanently by leaving some scars on him as well. Simple hickeys weren’t enough, as they would fade away, and also her bite would heal and disappear. - Unless she would bite him again and again at the same area. Maybe then the shape of her teeth would stay visible as, among all those other scars, a very exceptional detail on the archer’s body. As a kind of sign that he belonged to her, and that he always would remember that. Or she could mark him a whole lot simpler and at the same time make clear that unauthorized actions had consequences by scratching him with the metal blade, which he had stolen secretly and thought that she wouldn’t realize it. Well, she should have known it; after all, he was a thief, no matter what he said. And thieves were brand marked, at least they used to be in the past, so why shouldn’t she..

Vhara dismissed her ideas when Clint awoke and looked distressed at her, his chest heaving irregularly when he realized that she had a closer look at the remains of former fights. He even tried to hide them, which was impossible as there were plenty of them scattered all over his body. Sympathetically, Vhara freed him from feeling uncomfortable and pulled a blanket over the man, who sighed relieved. She was in a placated mood and didn’t want to badger him right now. Anyhow, she said into the silence: “You know you don’t have to be ashamed of your scars. They only show that you are a fighter and that you made it through a lot. I met people who wore such marks with pride.” A long time after her voice subsided and she already had been convinced that the archer slept, he answered silently: “I am proud of some of these scars, but most of them only show me setbacks.” Vhara was surprised by his openness. He always appeared so withdrawn, and although he was in her captivity for quite a long time, they never had been able to lead a conversation with such sincerity before. - Without orders, insults, and what not. Tentatively, Clint went on: “It makes my failures visible for the rest of my life. When you have a look at my team, no one has so many scars. Either they are simply too good to get hurt, or they have special healing abilities. Without Dr. Cho’s help, I would look even worse.” He fell silent. And for one time in her life, Vhara said something, which she really meant like she said it and came from a place from which she had thought wasn’t existent anymore: her heart. It might be counterproductive to her tactic, which simply consisted of making Clint feel bad, so he would cave in and work for her. However, she was long over her initial plan, so she didn’t care and explained against all reason vehemently: “Don’t compare yourself to others. That’s not fair towards yourself. You are not from another planet and never had any super soldier serum. How should you be like them? I know that you came down a hard way, and you’re doing your best. You know what I think? I’m convinced that you’re even stronger than all of your mates together because you have to get up on your feet after every blow you take without supernatural help. You are brave enough to go into a fight with only a bow and arrows instead of a full body armor with missiles and a program that weighs up your opportunities, telling you what you have to do to succeed and what wouldn’t work. No matter how hard your fate was, you always got on your feet and went on. That’s your strength. You never give up.” Clint didn’t answer to the long monolog of the woman, but she knew that he had listened when a hint of a genuine smile crossed his face. After a minute of pondering silence had passed, he asked impishly: “So do you have a cup of coffee left for such an extraordinary arrow guy like me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was younger, a friend and I looked up words in a dictionary for foreign words to make our essays sound better. We never made it over the A-section. So our texts were full of difficult words all solely starting with ‘a’ ^^ For this story, I had to do some researches to be able to let Clint think about the words at the beginning of this chap, but again didn’t make it over the A-section. Guess some things never change.. ;)


	16. My war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to “set the scene”/ add a little bit atmosphere, I recommend listening to the Age of Ultron theme song "Heroes”. You will know when to start playing the music ;)  
> So are you ready for a rather weird thing to happen?

Chapter 16

_-Meanwhile in the Avengers Tower_

After an elderly woman had called the whole day, and Tony had pretended to not being there about twenty times, he gave up and answered the phone. He sighed. Old ladies who didn’t give up, as well as S.H.I.E.L.D.-agents who simply overwrote Jarvis’ protocols because it was “urgent”, could be so annoyingly pushy. Rolling his eyes, he listened to what she had to tell him. Natasha watched him laughing, leaning nonchalantly against the door. Her smile froze, however, when she saw the deep furrows on Tony’s forehead. Agitatedly, he ran his fingers through his hair and suddenly was very serious. “I understand, Madam. We will take care for it.” He hung up, and Natasha looked at him with big eyes. “Is there an attack somewhere in town?” Tony only answered silently: “Worse.” Before he was able to explain it, Steve entered the room: “Hey, why are you looking so seriously?” “Do you remember the woman, who called me repeatedly?” asked Tony. “You mean the one you always ignored? Yeah, I remember her. Not very polite if you ask me..” Tony put his arms akimbo, looked quite feisty by doing so, and snarled: “But I’m not asking you, Mr. ‘God’s righteous man’ himself.”

Steve’s face went daunting and for quite a while, the Captain and the billionaire looked challenging at each other. However, knowing that there was no time for their usual bickering or a staredown, Tony broke the eye contact, breathed in deeply, crossed his arms, and went on much calmer: “She called because she heard someone whine from Clint’s apartment since two days. She knocked on his door, but nobody opened. There was only a whimper and scratching hearable. So she called the police, which burst the door. They found Lucky. He was almost starved. Ribs sticking out. No sign of Clint. Seems like he hasn’t been at home for a good while and simply left Lucky behind. Police pressed charges against him because of cruelty to animals.” Natasha interjected: “He never would do that! Guys, you know him, he never would let anything happen what would harm his beloved pet! No matter what you tell me: there is something wrong, and I’m gonna find Clint!”

* * *

 

Clint sat cross-legged on the bed of the woman. Vaguely, he remembered how he had been under the shower together with her only short after he had spent the night with her. He had stood there, had stared rather passive against the flagging, and she had let her hands roam possessively over his whole body.

Clint blinked and let his hands glide over his skin where she had touched him. The areas where she had clasped his waist and dragged him closer in her embrace and which he traced now seemed to burn and tingle. This feeling sent shivers down his spine and he put his hands away from his hips. Chewing pensively on his bottom lip, he tried to figure out what had happened exactly under the shower. He really would have loved to know if there had happened more, if they had sex again, or if they just had taken a shower together. However, to his disappointment, his memory was blurred. He couldn’t even remember how they ended up from drinking coffee, which was by the way delicious, under the shower.

Over an hour had passed, when suddenly a picture flashed back in his head. It showed him being soaped from head to toe. Clint ran his hand over his face. He didn’t want to admit it, but his memory showed him crystal clear that he had liked it how he had been given a soft massage by Vhara. It had done him good. His tensed shoulders had relaxed, and not only they did. His guard which he had tried to keep up frantically despite the drugs, albeit not really successfully, fell down completely as well. He had been putty in her hands and he had loved it. For a long time – actually already since he had been an orphaned kid - he had waited that someone would take care for him, would pay him attention and yes, he also had searched for someone who showed him the right way. With this wonderful massage given by Vhara this wish for affection came true, and for a moment he had had the belief that someone knew what his destiny was. Vhara could give his life a sense. Her orders were like a compass for someone who had lost his way. He just had to follow her. And what was even greater: She needed him. Clint smiled blissfully and repeated this thought: He was needed. Of all the thousands of Hydra members only he could fight successfully against Vision because only he knew how to trick him. In his joy over being needed and not being ignored as unimportant, he forgot completely that the first big task he had to do for the woman meant to betray his friends. The only person who counted was Vhara, and he wanted to please her, no matter what the cost. She gave him reason to live.

The archer gasped for air and held on his blanket as if he needed something that gave him security. What the hell did he just think? How could he even consider such things? One moment he despised Vhara and the next she was almost like a goddess for him. That was just so damn wrong. Clenching his fist, he already was about to beat the nonsense out of him, but remembered in the last moment his mental note: _“Try not to recalibrate yourself ever again.”_ His hand stopped only an inch from his head. He let it hover there and the time passed by, but he still held it there like he wanted to make sure that he could hit him nevertheless in case it should be necessary.

While doing so, he quickly, corrected his own thought: He didn’t need anyone to indicate the direction. He was a grown man who walked his way alone. If there should be a reason for his life, it definitely wasn’t Vhara. He hadn’t liked her massage. It hadn’t been wonderful at all, and it had been given him by the woman, not by Vhara. Gosh, he really should take better care to keep the distance. So again: He hadn’t liked what the woman had done to him!

But no matter how often he repeated it, deep inside he knew it wasn’t true. He had enjoyed it. Period. And although he wanted to blame it on the brainwashing, which was a quite likely explanation, he simply couldn’t. Okay, the matter about wanting to turn Vision in was definitely caused by Hydra’s influence, but not the issue with Vhara. This time, he was convinced that it had been his free choice to let the woman come so close. Well, maybe _convinced_ wasn’t the right word but at least he strongly believed it.

Clint tore his hair. What the hell had he done? This wasn’t good at all. Only slowly memories returned, causing a few, more or less coherent, pictures flashing through his mind:

_They exchanged passionate kisses. Their bodies pressed tightly together; hot water streamed down on them. Slender hands ruffled his wet hair. A brief moment, Vhara desisted from him to catch her breath and he could see her eyes filled with lust. In the next moment, his lips were sealed with hers again and he was pinned against the cold flagging. Her fingertips wandered down his thighs and left goosebumps all the way down. Finally reaching her destination without looking, she found his hands, and they entangled their fingers. Although there would only hardly fit a piece of paper in between them, Clint pulled her even closer and she laid her head on his chest. For a long while they just stood there: she listening to his heartbeat and his reassuring humming which made his upper body slightly vibrate, and he letting one hand gliding comfortingly through her hair and over her back._

_When Vhara looked up to him, she appeared all of a sudden fragile. There wasn’t much left of the tough Hydra boss when she smiled at him hesitantly. For an elusive moment, Clint could read the insecurity in her eyes which he already had felt when she lay in his arms and clung to his body rather like a little girl that wanted to be protected than a powerful woman who had full control over him. It was like they suddenly connected emotionally and he could feel her silent pain and anxieties, whilst he disclosed his own – unfiltered and absolutely genuine. Not with words. They didn’t need those and simple words also wouldn’t have been able to express what was going on inside the two of them right now. It was the wonderful feeling of finally being understood by someone and not being judged for particular emotions._

_Then, as sudden and unexpected as their connection had built, the moment was over and the part inside the woman which knew exactly what it wanted took over again, pushing the vulnerable Vhara aside. The bond between them was lost and felt almost like it had just been a dream that slowly faded away._

_Pretending like nothing had happened, Vhara cupped his face demandingly with both hands, dragged Clint’s head down a little bit and they started kissing each other again, although the feeling of belonging together was missing now. But they didn’t care as sexual tension took over and pushed every emotional or rational thought aside. There was only him and the beauty in front of him nibbling slightly on his lips. Clint couldn’t hold back the sexual desire that grew inside him anymore and so he.._

Clint’s memory broke off. For God’s sake! What the hell did he do then? Come on! Did his own memories really have to let him down just like his old TV always did when the movie just got exciting? He cursed loudly. And was the woman really a good person somewhere deep inside her or did he just imagine it? “Come on, old boy, that’s important. Remember what happened! For God’s sake that can’t be so difficult!” The archer kept talking to himself, massaged his temples, and pressed his eyes together. But no matter how hard he tried to remember what happened next, if they did more than making out, and if the woman actually was a good person, he simply couldn’t find it out.

Once more he asked himself aghast: “Clint, what have you done?” But he couldn’t give himself an answer. So there were two possibilities: Either it had been the drugs after all which let him indeed do such stupid things and – as he already had learned - were also able to cause memory gaps, or he was an utter idiot for getting emotionally and physically involved with the woman, and his brain just tried to protect him by not showing what else he had done.

Sighing deeply, he realized that he had to accept that he wouldn’t find out what really had happened unless he asked the woman, but that would be the last thing he would do. No, he better should simply stop thinking about it and forget it. He huffed. _Forget it.._ Yeah, well his brain had already been so kind to do that..

He let himself fall on his back and stared at the ceiling for quite a long time, finally turned to the side, pulled the blanket over him and tried to sleep. Sleeping was always good. – Well as long as you didn’t have problems with falling asleep..

Fidgety, Clint tossed and turned in the bed. As much as he loved napping, right now he just wanted to do something else. Lying day after day in bed wasn’t that awesome as he always had thought it would be. He was bored. Who would have thought he would ever consider being in bed as boring. Sighing, he tried to get up, although he knew it was vain endeavor as the woman had forbidden him to do so. And right, his legs were shaking because of the tension and the strength he used to force himself out of bed, but at the same time a resistance of the same strength fought against his goal and so, in the end, he didn’t move an inch.

Slightly annoyed, he raised his hands and pretended that he held a bow in his hand and aimed for a spot on the ceiling. He drew his imaginary bow, but let his hands sink down on the blanket before he could shoot. The woman hadn’t forbidden him to do it, but if she would have known that he was so childish, she definitively would have. So that meant she wouldn’t appreciate it, which in turn meant he wasn’t allowed to do it. Frustrated, Clint contorted his face, tried to lift his hands once more to shoot anyways, but once the thought - that the boss wouldn’t like it – burned into his mind, his extremities didn’t obey him anymore.

* * *

 

A couple of days had passed since the night, in which Clint had committed himself completely to the woman. And there was something else as well, what dated back quite a while: he didn’t have to take a shot since that night. Amazed, he realized how his thoughts cleared up. The difficulties to distinguish between his own will and what he only wanted because of the drug disappeared.

His own voice actually never was gone completely. - Only was pushed back, which made the situation so unbearable for him, as he knew he did something completely wrong, but still did it and when he did it, he afterward forgot the reason for his behavior. So he couldn’t tell anymore whether he or the woman had wanted it, but he was aware of what he had done and what implication his acting had. When he had been with Loki, it had been different. Till today he didn’t have a clue how much agents he had killed under his influence. If he had to kill people now, he would be fully aware of it, but couldn’t stop himself from doing so, as his will was surrounded from the orders of the woman, which controlled him. It was like a big impervious wall of fog, which, however, now lifted slightly and made another wall visible: the glass wall he already had recognized before, which purpose was to contain all the ideas of Hydra in his head, and which presented the last barrier to freedom. He felt that it wasn’t so strong anymore. He just had to get rid of the fog and run through this damn wall. If he would manage to do so, he could regain everything: his pride, his will, his soul. He had to get out of there now! Otherwise, he would die inside. Knowing that only a few days before he had been willing to let that happen, he only could shake his head about himself. If someone else would have told him about what was going on inside someone under the influence of the drugs, he might have reassured the person, that it was okay to react in such a weak way. The very doubt Hydra managed to cast inside was barely bearable. But he wasn’t talking to another person. It was about him, and he didn’t allow himself to cut him slack. There was no excuse.

He breathed in deeply, making himself ready to leave all the shit behind. Instinctively, Clint knew what to do and imagined how he started to run - his feet flying over the ground and even getting faster. On the outside, however, he was completely calm - not a muscle moved, only his heart rate paced up. The thick fog slowed him down, held him back, but he shook it off. When he finally ran against the imagined wall, he could almost physically feel how he hit it and bounced back. But he didn’t give up. He had to fight. He wanted out of this hell, and therefore he had to break down his mental cell. Inside screaming, he ran against the wall once more and fought against the venomous ideas, which Hydra had implanted in his brain. Feeling how it made him tired, he still went on pushing everything aside what looked like a thought of Hydra and not like his own ideals. He only went on slowly and suddenly found himself surrounded by hundreds of Hydra ideas, which he had believed to be his own just a couple of seconds ago. Now, that he searched for them to destroy them, it went more and more, and they seemed to crush him to death. A moment he panicked, but then he uttered a loud, angry battle cry, imagined that he had his bow and arrows and aimed at every single thought. He slowed down his breathing. Exhaled, relaxed his hands and shot a salvo of arrows. ”Showtime!” He would burn this place down. As soon as an arrow hit a part of the fog, it manifested and splintered in thousands of tiny fragments short after it.

It was Clint’s weirdest war he ever had to lead. Everything happened only in his mind, and he was fighting fog with a bow and arrows.. Nothing made sense. And at the same time, everything made sense: He felt how the wall got cracks. Could imagine how sunshine went through the haze. But not from the outside. It emanated from the inside. It was his will that slowly fought its way through the haze and managed to reach the surface. He was on the right way. This was his battle.

He was a little bit baffled when he ran out of arrows, though. After all, this still was his imagination, so why shouldn’t he have a hell of an amount of arrows? He grinned. Knowing that he could do more than just archery, he reached for his boots, where he found a dagger and simply went on gashing the fog. When he had cut everything in little pieces, he stood there in awe and looked at what he had done. But he had no time to celebrate his success. The task wasn’t finished yet, and he didn’t want to be too secure of victory too early. Being that could be very dangerous. He took his bow, transformed it into a bo-staff and whirled it skillfully around like he would do in a stick fight with a real person. The last remains of the fog cleared away. Now only a thin layer of glass, which already was crossed by cracks, separated him from liberty. Without hesitation, Clint took a run-up and crashed, with his feet first, through the glass.

Slowly, Clint opened his eyes, lowering his arms, which he, immersed in his mental war, had risen to protect his face from the shards. He had never felt so alive and extremely proud for a long time. Normally, after a fight, he was happy when he was able to help but soon went on with his everyday life. Fights were too common to pay special attention to it. It was just work. But this fight had been something special, and no one ever had trained him for it. He had found the way out entirely on his own, had overcome being brainwashed, and that’s why he was so proud.

The door opened, and the woman entered the room. As a matter of course she kissed him on his mouth. However, this time he didn’t kiss her back anymore. He tilted his head to the side and shook it. “No!” His voice was firm and emphatic and his body language made clear: _Don’t touch me!_ Staggered, the woman looked at him. “You’re not allowed to do that anymore. I don’t want that. You gross me out.” Clint was mad about the woman, but also mad about his weakness of the last days. To cover the disappointment about himself up, he flew into a frenzy. “When you are only on the search for a sex partner, you can have that easier. I can give you some addresses of appropriate establishments. No problem. But let me go.” The expression on the woman’s face showed genuine confusion. “Clint, what’s wrong with you? We love each other..” Jeez, Hydra really employed some crazy people. “Listen”, Clint looked at her very seriously when he clarified: “I don’t love you, never have and never will. Do you understand?” He emphasized every word. Clasping her upper body tightly with her arms, she asked with a trembling voice: “But what about our special connection? I thought you felt it too.” Impatiently, Clint interrupted her: “Yeah, I did. But two seconds don’t establish a relationship for eternity. Sorry girl, but that’s not the way things work.” He could see that his words had hit the woman hard. She winced like everything he said was a stab into her heart, and it made him think about what he had uttered and what she had to object. The woman was right. There had been something very special between them. Something other people might never experience in their entire lives. But it was fact that there had also happened many bad things, which cast dark shadows over their “relationship”, and which he never could forgive her. No, this wouldn’t work and he had to make clear to the woman that this wasn’t a modern Romeo and Juliet love story with only two organizations standing between their love. He would deny her to love him, too. This wasn’t a romantic tragedy. This was just a shitty situation which he wanted to end now.

With having made this decision, he went on: “You brought me to heel with your awful drugs. That’s it. I hate you! You are a despicable creature.” The last words were almost spat out by the archer. The woman looked still like she couldn’t understand what was suddenly going on, but her voice went strident when she asked: “A creature? A despicable creature?! This ‘creature’ saved your life when you stopped breathing and this is the thanks I get?” Clint kept cool, but some deep frown wrinkles showed on his forehead when he said: “I didn’t ask you to do that.” Okay, this wasn’t a hundred percent right, but who cared? To distract from it, he added quickly: “And by the way: You didn’t save it, you ruined it.”

Suddenly, beside herself with rage, the face of the woman twisted into a direful grimace, which had nothing human on it anymore. With dangerous calmness, she pressed through her lips: “Well if that’s the case..”


	17. Should be a man, but..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I feel a little bit bad for what happens to Hawkeye :’( on the other side his getting the chance to find so many hidden talents of him..^^

Chapter 17

Disappointment. Dolefulness. Anger. All those feelings whirled around inside Vhara when Clint told her all those rude things. For a wonderful, but short moment, she really had been convinced that they were meant to be together. That she could leave all this mess in her life behind. That she would be happy one day.

When Hydra had recruited her, she had been thankful for the chance they had given her, but soon she realized that what they made her doing was wrong. However, she didn’t find a way out. So she worked her way up instead, in hope to get more freedoms, which would it make possible to stop the insanity. But in the course of time, she enmeshed herself only deeper and deeper into the cruel Hydra business. She had the certainty of never getting out of there again all on her own. Seeing Hawkeye kneeling in front of her, realizing what potential was hidden slumbering within him.. He was just like a godsend in the right moment, when she thought she couldn’t go on anymore. Convinced that Clint would see the same in her, she stopped giving him the liquid, thinking that this wouldn’t be necessary anymore. The openness after they had spent the night together had been proof enough for her. She hadn’t ordered him to talk about this rather personal topic, but he did, and she had been convinced that he had taken her into his confidence because he trusted and liked her.

And now? He abandoned her. She felt like the time her brother had ripped away from her her beloved rag doll when she was a little girl. She had trusted him, and he hadn’t cared at all. - Spurned her feelings. Like Clint just did.

Vhara shed no tear. Although she was in the mood to do so, she couldn’t and envied Clint for the ability to do so. The man had done his best to hide it, but still, she had caught him crying and remembered how doing exactly that had brought her relief in her childhood. But although it seemed to be so easy, it was her denied somehow now. Instead, she felt how anger raised inside her to fill the void, which the inability to feel sadness had left. Clint had ripped away from her hopes and dreams. And a person without hopes was nothing. Hope dies last, but if your body didn’t pass away along with it, and still was there breathing and living, then you were only a zombie with no way to go. Such a life was senseless. So she didn’t have anything to lose.

How dared he to talk to her like that? To do that to her? Vhara bristled with anger about him, about Hydra and about herself. How could she have been so naive to think that someone could like her? That never had happened and never would take place in future. No matter what she did, how kind and helpful she was – people still didn’t like her. It seemed like they were repulsed by her mere presence, despite being the politest way she could be. Sentiment.. bah.. that was something for losers. Never again, that should make her lose her way. The world saw in her a monster? Well, they could get that.

The provocative glance of the archer, who didn’t even try to hide his scorn, made her lose control finally. Blind with rage, she took the heavy wooden chair next to her and knocked Clint out by smashing it on his head with full force. When the man didn’t move anymore, and only blood from a new laceration and an old one, which ripped open by the blow, streamed over his face, she settled and the old Vhara, from which she had tried to run away without avail, took over. Offishly, she gave the command to lock him up in his prison again. Due to her unauthorized actions they had lost a couple of days, put Hydra’s plan still was accomplishable. However, a daunting smile crossed her face, before they would go on turning Clint into a toy soldier with the liquid, she wanted to let him suffer for what he had done to her. She would make his life a misery. She definitely would take the time to do so.

* * *

Clint was sitting dazed with a thick head on the ground. Just a few minutes before, he had regained consciousness. Trying figuring out what had happened, he only could remember that the woman had been very upset. Well, that a lady was annoyed about him was nothing uncommon, but what the heck had he done wrong this time? Carefully, he felt for his head. Clumsy as he was, he touched, literally, on a sore point. A sharp pain flashed through his whole body. “Yeah, great, Clint! Just can’t seem to miss, right?” Constantly berating himself, he continued his examination, checking if there were more injuries, but aside from a new laceration and an old one, which seemed to have opened again on his head, he could only find old crusted sores. At least they were all closing well.

On the spur of the moment, he took off one of the bandages the woman had put around an injury which one of the Hydra agents who had abducted him had inflicted on him, and wrapped it tight around his head to staunch the bleeding. Still nagging about his stupidity, it came into his mind that once again he had been too lippy and had paid for it. Gosh, he really should be more often the tight-lipped version of himself. The problem was that he didn’t really have an influence on which side showed up. Sometimes he simply didn’t feel like leading a conversation and didn’t say more than what was absolutely necessary. However, cracking jokes and driving other people mad with it was more fun, so this side of him won most of the times. And on that score, he had to admit he had, considering how the woman went postal, made a good job of it. Tcha, everyone was talented at something..

So the woman had clobbered him with a chair. Well, that was something new. He could tick that on his list with special ways of being beaten. Clint had never expected that she was capable of such a clout. But obviously, the petite person was. After all, he was the living proof.

For a moment another gracefully built woman appeared in his mind’s eye: his mother. Unlike Vhara, she would have had a reason to beat the shit out of a man: his dad. Unfortunately, again unlike Vhara, she wasn’t able to defend herself against his attacks. Embittered, Clint exhaled the air sharply, which he had held unconsciously. Shaking his head, he got rid of the unpleasant memories of his past, but also got quite of a headache. And of course started nagging about himself and his incredible intelligence once more.

Finally, being able to block out the past, he managed to concentrate on the important things: the present. He already had noticed that he wasn’t lying captive in a king-size bed, but instead was sitting on a dusty, cold floor. “Well, differentiating between a soft mattress and a hard ground is beyond doubt a feat. Yeay, found another secret talent of mine.”

Before he could go on goofing on himself, he quickly proceeded with his deductions. It was pitch-dark around him. “Wonder why mom never applied me for a school for gifted youngsters. Realizing that there is no light after only ten minutes definitely is a special ability, too.” Furtive, he quickly wiped away a single tear, which he couldn’t hold back any longer and stole from his eye after the reoccurring thought about his mother. Weeping over that loss wouldn’t help him. Sighing, he crawled alongside the room’s walls and felt blindly his way around. His tied up hands didn’t simplify his undertaking. It already had given him a hard time, when he had bandaged his head. Silently, he cursed the woman, who he blamed to be solely responsible for being cuffed with the metal manacles instead of ones that would spare his hands from serious injuries. And if he ever had doubts if Vhara really was just a solely bad person, they had disappeared by now. Vhara was everything but good.

The handcuffs were digging deep into his flesh, abrading the already sore skin even more, and as they were too tight around his wrists, he had got pins and needles in his fingers and lost the feeling in his hands. Of course, she would take advantage of his fears. He really should have known better. What the hell did he think, when he told her straight away about his weak point? Angry about himself, he tried to massage his hands and hoped that the inadequate blood supply wouldn’t cause any long-term effects, and that nerve tracts weren’t damaged by the too close-fitting fetters.

Again he cursed the woman silently. But why silent? Maybe Hydra observed him somehow. He hadn’t a problem when they learned what opinion he had about them. He already was in deep doo-doo, so holding his tongue was too late anyways. So he bawled and ripped out with oaths, which were qualified to make not only Steve blush. When he was hoarse, he pressed his arms on his legs, which he tucked up in such a way that his chin could rest on his knees, rocking slightly back and forth. Wrapping them around his body to warm him was due to the handcuffs impossible. Again he only wore boxers, froze terribly and was convinced that the removing of the blanket from his prison, which he considered to be the cell from the beginning, also was the doing of the crazy woman. There still was the skeevy mattress, but even if it would have been a new high-end mattress he would have stayed away from it. The floor was ice cold, but since the “sleepover”, as he euphemized the last nights with the woman, he didn’t have the heart to lie on a bed again, as it brought back terrible memories. So he preferred to freeze and pressed himself in the corner, which was the farthest away from the mattress, breathing upon his hands and every other part of his body he was able to reach, to warm himself.

Chattering his teeth with cold, he stared into the darkness and suddenly wondered about the absolute silence. It was too silent, and shouldn’t he hear at least the noise his teeth made? Aghast, he reached for his left ear. Nothing. Touching his other ear only led to the same devastating result. Clint didn’t know how he should react. On one side he was so fed up and in a mood like “Screw everybody, I’m goin’ to bed.” But there was no bed in which he could (or better said wanted to) wait for a new morning, which would hopefully bring a better day.

Slowly, his plight reached his mind. He was sitting half naked somewhere in a prison cell in a bunker, which belonged to Hydra, right in the middle of nowhere. The boss was off her trolley and as a crowning touch they had taken away his hearing aid, cuffed his hands and switched off the light. All the sudden, he felt like a helpless newborn. The silence felt oppressive and combined with the other circumstances it was almost not bearable. Yes, they already had cut off his senses from the rest of the world before, but rather by accident than by a cruel plan. At least he guessed that the missing light in the shower was the merit of a lazy caretaker and was together with his missing hearing devices a rather coincidental unjoyous situation for him. This time, however, it was doubtless on purpose. It was the revenge of the woman for not reciprocating her love. And if she thought that would afflict him, she was absolutely right. Although he liked playing cool and considered himself as quite tough, he also just was a human being with feelings. Hell, he had had a lot of weird girlfriends, but never such a maniac one. Above all, she never had been his girlfriend. Not to his definition. It was important for him to straighten that out. She could claim that nonsense as often as she liked, but it wouldn’t make it true.

Inadvertent, he sobbed convulsively. When he had overcome the brainwashing, he had felt so unbelievable great. So invincible. But Hydra had brought him back down to earth with a bang and made him feel more than just miserable. He wasn’t able to hear, nor to see, nor could he really feel the surroundings with his bound, deadening hands. Hydra had deprived him of almost all ways of sense perception, and if they would attack him now, he couldn’t do anything against it. He first would realize it, when it was too late. None of his training over all the years had prepared him for such a desperate situation. Oh, if only the silence would stop. It may sound impossible, but the absolute silence seemed to be so unbelievable loud that Clint had the feeling his head would burst any second.

Again, he sobbed, and this time he didn’t try to fight it back. Why should he suppress it? No one saw him and even if Hydra did, he couldn’t care less. They already had told him what a wuss he was. Although Clint didn’t like to admit it, but which dude let himself being raped by a woman? Those physical incidents with the woman gnawed at his pride and made him feel ashamed, angry, afraid and depressed at once. He was so confused. During the sexual assault and short after it, he hadn’t felt much. It had been rather like he was numb. It all had been so unreal. Like a machine, he simply had worked. But now.. He had the feeling like it was his own fault. He should have defended himself better. After all, he was a man and a former Avenger. He had to be strong, but he wasn’t as a result of the effect of the drugs, but still.. And didn’t he kind of rape himself? That sounded weird, but for quite a while the woman had given him the lead. He had been on top of her, and she had been rather passive.. And under the shower? Looking at the whole scenery now, it seemed to be so unreal. It simply couldn’t be that he really wanted to have sex again with her by choice. No, he must have had a devil inside him. A devil named brainwashing.

Clint wished he could take a long and hot shower – without Vhara - to get rid of her scent, which was aggravating penetrant, especially as his sense of smell was one of the few senses he still could use. Moreover, he wished he could get drunk to forget everything. Actually, he despised people who didn’t know their limit, as he was well aware of what alcohol could cause, thanks to his dad, but this time he didn’t care. Some, no actually a full barrel of whiskey and rye would be great now. Suddenly, a wave of profound rage about himself hit him and caused the urge to harm himself. However, instead of doing so, he suppressed it with an enormous effort and tried to tell himself that it wasn’t that bad. He had sex with a beautiful woman. So what? Other men would envy him for that.

Unfortunately, Clint couldn’t convince himself and curled up even more, hot tears streaming silently down his face, falling into the dust. Maybe he would have been better off with accepting the woman as his spouse, pretending that he loved her as much as she loved him. He never would get out of here. So setting up a team with her maybe would have been the better option. But that was impossible. He simply couldn’t accept his fate. The short time together with her almost hadn’t been bearable for him. A lifetime.. No, he didn’t even want to think about that. It terrified him.

In the blink of an eye, he was overcome by anger over himself. Since when did he behave like this? He was a man, and men didn’t cry. They didn’t show feelings, and if they did, it was some manly shit like rage or something.. “Stop the fucking weeping!” He yelled so loud that his throat hurt. In former days, he had always managed to stay as cool as ice in the most desperate, life-endangering situations. – Even had given this condition a name: _hot ice_. Because he looked damn hot when he was cool as ice.. Well, now he definitely looked neither hot nor cool. Where and when the hell did he lose his nonchalant “I-don’t-care-attitude?” Oh yeah, right, when he had given himself the permission to feel. – Feel things like sadness, pain, anxiety.. “Clint, you moron. Stupid, stupid idea,” he mumbled. Still, tears were streaming inexorably over his cheeks. “For the last time: you are a man. Men don’t bawl,” he snarled in the attempt to stop it. But why weren’t they allowed to display feelings without being titled as a wuss immediately? After all, they were also just human beings, and he simply felt so much like crying at the moment. He felt like his heart would splinter if he didn’t let out his emotions, and he had no more energy for an outburst of fury. So finally, he gave in and was shaken by a new wave of sobs.

Sudden bright light was like a sensory overload for Clint. After all the darkness his body couldn’t process the light, although it was actually not that glaring. Pressing his eyelids together and burying his head in his arms, he tried to avoid it nevertheless. It was only when someone tugged on his hair when he realized that he had visitors and ashamed, he quickly wiped off the tears. It was to no use, though, as his eyes were red and swollen and therefore, it was more than obvious what he had done the last hours. Still dazzled by the light, Clint looked up, to find himself in company of the woman and three blokes. The way they towered over him, really looked bad and Clint decided that it would be wiser to stay in his sitting position and wait for what they were up to do with him.

The woman was the first to break the silence: “How are you feeling, Hawkeye?” Clint couldn’t hear how she stressed his alias, but he could see the way she spoke it. It was almost like spitting out his name, which made the contempt obvious. He didn’t answer. Only stared back provocatively and kept waiting.

Vhara saw how the archer tried to dry his tears secretly and felt a stab in her heart. Remembering how rude he had been to her, she soon was over having pity for him, however. He didn’t earn her compassion. She only visited him to show him what terrible mistake he had made by disowning her. Soon he wouldn’t look in such a defiant way to her. Studying him coolly, she asked: “Did you like the absolute silence? Not a single stimulus.. Isn’t that wonderful? Escape daily hassles.. Slow down in a world where everything is so fast, so flighty.. You know other people pay a lot of money and do stupid things like meditation to reach such a state we afford you..” With satisfaction, Vhara detected how Clint growled but stayed still. It seemed like he wasn’t keen on making the acquaintance of a chair or something similar again. Starting to enjoy the situation, she went on mocking him: “What do you say for our kindness of making this possible for you?” Now, the man in front of her obviously had problems holding back his anger, but still, at the same time, she could read mortification in his eyes. “I can’t hear you,” fluted Vhara provocatively and held her left hand to her ear.

The fact that the woman behaved like she was rather talking to a little kid than to a grown man, made the humiliation perfect for Clint. It took all his will to press through his lips “Thank you” instead of strangling her instantly for her impudence. He halted. This maniac shouldn’t think she could harm him with her psycho-nonsense. Actually, she did, but she didn’t need to know, right? Besides, he couldn’t allow her to talk to him like that. So he forced a mock grin on his face and added: “Though the room service could have been better. I couldn’t even find the ‘Please do not disturb’ sign to be able to hang it up, so that no one disturbs me relaxing, as you idiots are just doin’”. Clint swallowed down the rest he wanted to say when Vhara closed in on him and he could feel her breath on his skin, when she threatened: “Careful with what you wish for, Hawk! We can fulfill your longing for total deprivation of your senses faster than you expect. - Faster and ultimate.” Out of nowhere, she held an artfully ornamented butterfly knife in her hand, flipped it skillfully, letting the two handles rotate around her fingers, showed off a difficult aerial trick and finally aimed at his eyes. Clint hadn’t expected that. Shocked, he flinched back and pressed his back against the cold wall behind him to get out of range of the woman as far away as possible, holding his hands protectively in front of his face.

With gratification, Vhara watched the reaction of the archer and decided spontaneously to enlarge upon those little mind games. She simply loved it so much. Stepping forward, she took his from fighting callused hands. Tightening her grip, she held Clint’s hands in front of his eyes. “Maybe I should test if my knife is sharp enough before I blind you.” Demonstratively, she let her perfect manicured finger glide over Clint’s index, middle and ring fingers of both of his hands. “I don’t think you need those any longer,” she continued with an evil smile. “Well, maybe if you ask me nicely I’ll leave you your ring fingers.. Or maybe not.” Vhara changed her opinion while she was speaking. Of course, missing index and middle fingers would be enough to make it impossible for Clint to go on with his passion: archery. He wouldn’t be able to nock arrows any longer. Well, if he tried very hard, he might be able to do so, but what the help would it be for him if he couldn’t shoot the arrows afterward. The ring fingers were just needed to help drawing a bow. They only had to support the other fingers and therefore weren't that important to make archery impossible for the stubborn man. But why should she leave him those fingers? That he could marry one day and wear a ring as a sign of his eternal love? No, certainly not.

Clint swallowed hard and went hot and cold all over. He was convinced that this maniac really was capable of cutting his fingers. Hydra was thorough, and as they knew about him being ambidextrous of course, they would play it safe and cripple both of his hands. He would lose six fingers. Six! The thought of never again being able to draw his bows, to shoot.. Maybe he wouldn’t even survive this treatment, but if he was honest with himself, it would be better this way anyways. A life without archery and under control of Hydra.. No, he didn’t want to go through that hell. Clint felt how tears raised in his eyes and blinked to get rid of them. Why did they always have to appear in situations he couldn’t need them? Since he had allowed himself to cry the first time after many years, it seemed like he had opened the gates, had lost control over it and couldn’t stop anymore. Angry, Clint decided that no matter how much relief crying could cause, he had to stop with it immediately. Blubbering the whole day simply wasn’t him. He had to be strong now. As long as there was hope, he had to fight. When worse came to worse, he still could end it. If his friends would find him then, they would have certainty that he had fought till the last minute, and would be proud of him at least one time in their lives – or not, who knew..?

To cover up his shock, he yanked his hands away from the woman’s loose grasp, jumped on his feet and barged into the boss in order to reach the door. Later on, he only could shake his head about his action. It was so senseless to try to bolt out of a locked room filled with four Hydra agents. At least if your name wasn’t Captain America. Due to his hearing damage, he didn’t hear the woman’s command to catch him, but soon felt the effects of it. Tackling him, they pressed him painfully on the ground. As there were people all over him, he wasn’t able to discern what was going on, but he felt how someone took one of his hands and forced it open. A hot wave went through Clint’s body causing him to break out in a cold sweat. He thrashed about, tried to pull his hand away, flailed wildly with his feet, wiggled under the grasps of the men, yelled, and yes, also he had just decided not to do it ever again, he cried in pure fear and desperation. He didn’t care about his pride any longer, there wasn’t much left of it anyways, and begged for mercy. It didn’t help. A sharp pain made him wince and howl in agony. He turned his head to see how big the damage on his hand was, but the face of the woman went into his field of view. Snidely she said: “He’s all yours.” Clint knew it was addressed to the Hydra agents, but she took care that he took notice of it. His hand hurt like hell, but to his surprise not as much as he had expected for losing fingers. On the other side, he was well aware that the human body had the function to numb pain if it was too extreme in order to protect itself. Slowly, the adrenalin that had rushed into his body subsided and left Clint exhausted lying on the floor. Now that no one held him in place any longer, he could examine his hand, but suddenly he didn’t dare to look anymore. Too big was his fear of what he would see, and aside from that: what did the woman mean with _“He’s all yours”_?


	18. Don’t fuck with me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t want to spoil too much, however, I still hereby warn you that there will be a description of non-con gay sex. It’s just in Clint’s imagination, but if you still feel uncomfortable with that, I recommend to skip passage six and seven. Don’t skip the whole chapter unless you want to miss something cool happening – and I’m not talking about the smutty stuff..

Chapter 18

 _„He’s all yours.“_ The words echoed in Clint’s head, and he imagined how the voice of the woman sounded ice cold by saying that. He was still lying on the ground, not able to move, as he was not only tired but also petrified. What the hell did she mean, with _“He’s all yours”_? And why were the three agents the woman had talked to staring at him like that? So lecherously?

Before he was able to draw conclusions about what was going on, the woman left without looking at him, and he found himself with three men towering over him with wicked grins. Insecure, Clint looked up to them, clutching his broken finger with his other hand. Only a few seconds before, he had been brave enough to have a look after all, and found out relieved that all of his fingers were still attached to his body – although one protruded in a rather unhealthy looking angle. Regardless of not being a religious person, he still silently thanked God for sparing him from worse.

One of the men made a step forward, knelt down before him, took his chin ruggedly in his left hand, made him look in his eyes, grabbed Clint’s injured hand with his right one and grinned even more: “You have a very warm hand.” The archer had expected everything but not such a weird remark. So he shot the Hydra agent only a confused look which said: “Alright man, what ever you’ve taken, take less of it.” But despite having those words written clearly all over his face, he stayed still. The Hydra member didn’t care for Clint’s reaction and simply went on: “We are going to have a lot of fun, beauty princess.” Clint was taken aback by the nickname, but soon remembered that he had already met the guy before. It was the German, whom he had advised to try a beauty sleep. Great! Why couldn’t he simply shut up in certain situations? When the man stroked over his cheek with his right thumb, Clint flinched back in disgust. Unapologetically, the agent went on: “Hmm you let your personal hygiene slide a little bit. Seems like you weren’t able to go through your beauty routine. Dark circles under the eyes really don’t look good, but don’t worry, me and my friends will help you with sleeping.. Won’t we?” He turned laughing maliciously to the other two men, which joined in laughing. Clint already wanted to rebuke the guy that mentioning oneself first was impolite, but a realization hit him scalding hot. The way the men behaved, resembled the woman’s behavior before she had made him do things he’d rather like to forget. So this could only mean one thing..

He didn’t have a problem with gays. Everyone should get happy with the person he or she loved, no matter of what sex the partner was. But still, he was a straight guy to the core, and therefore it was only understandable that he preferred not to sleep with another man. - And definitely not with three at one time. He had had a lot of girlfriends. Okay, they didn’t stay with him. But he couldn’t blame them. How should they love him if even he couldn’t love himself? So only because he had never been able to keep up relationships with women, it didn’t mean he wasn’t a hundred percent straight. Well, except for the one time, when he had dreamed about him and Cap.. But whoa whoa whoa, that was just a weird dream, caused by a fanfiction he had read the evening before. Nothing serious. He smiled when he remembered Cap’s appalled look when he had read - with the most erotic voice he could do - explicit parts of a Captain Hawk fanfiction. The sight of how Steve had blushed and finally had run out of the room covering his ears simply had been too funny. Sometimes Tony really had great ideas, although he owed the billionaire a beer now because he had said he wouldn’t bet on Cap running away and rather had assumed that they would be given the bollocking of their lives.

One of the Hydra agents saw him smile and asserted: “Look at that bitch, he enjoys it!” The agents were laughing again. But Clint couldn’t hear it. On the one hand he was way too immersed into his memory of the good ol’ times, and on the other hand, he had closed his eyes, so he simply wasn’t able to read it from the lips, what was good. Otherwise, he would have felt even more miserable.

The captive felt how fingers ran through his hair and already envisioned vividly how the first man in uniform took him by his hair to force him to give him a blowjob, while the other two made sure he couldn’t get away. He knelt in front of him and yelled: “Let me go, you piece of shit!” As he realized that no one cared and simply went on, he repeated vigorously over and over again: “No, I can’t do this. Please stop!” shaking his head. As the man still didn’t give in, and instead opened his zipper, he turned away and screwed up his face. However, the two helpers of the man forced his head back directly into the agent’s crotch. Clenching his teeth as tight as possible, Clint still tried to get away, making some noises, which sounded like “I don’t want to.” He felt a tight grasp on his jaw, which forcefully made him open his mouth. Immediately, the man’s cock slipped inside, causing Clint to retch. Tears glittered in his eyes and the former Avenger couldn’t tell whether they were caused by the chocking or the humiliation – Well, it was probably both. With all his strength he had, he managed to draw back his head. An enraged face appeared in his sight: “Stop squirming and open your fucking mouth, slut!” Clint replied ornery with a slurred “no” as he gritted his teeth once more. Hands all over him tried to make him open his mouth again, but Clint only shook his head and mumbled through his lips, which he had still pressed together “Let off of me!” and “Bugger off!” However, he didn’t stand a chance. He was outnumbered, and so the men reached their goal eventually. The first agent started to deep throat him. There was nothing romantic or sensual in this scene. In fact, it was only a power game, showing Clint who was the boss and that they could do anything to him what they wanted. Clint choked, and his head turned red, but the Hydra member didn’t care and simply went on relentlessly. A last time the archer tried to make them stop, but his “please” was too burred to understand as the man still rammed his cock in his mouth, holding Clint’s head so he couldn’t turn away.

Suddenly, he was thrown to the ground, and somebody yanked his trousers away. Clint felt how someone else pressed his head down, while another person straddled his legs. Everywhere were hands upon him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw how one of the men put some lube on his hands, and he knew exactly what would happen next. Benumbed, the only thing he managed to utter was: “Please, no, please. I’m a virgin. I can’t take that.” His last word disappeared in a loud scream, which he did in pain when two fingers at once entered him violently with pure force and twisted roughly inside him. The Hydra agent scissored his fingers even more, causing Clint to howl in agony. Before he was able to adjust to it, the man behind him had already inserted a third finger. Abruptly they were pulled out, and Clint felt relieved and in a weird way empty. However, this feeling soon was replaced by a stabbing pain, when the man shoved his dick completely inside Clint without giving the man beneath him time to get used to it. The athletic man on the ground felt like he was just impaled and would split every second. It was too much. He fainted. But soon afterward, a firm grip on his hips, which immediately let dark bruises on his skin, dragged him out of the merciful state of not realizing what was going on around him. Clint grimaced with pain but pressed his lips together. No cry of pain should cross his lips. His assaulter shouldn’t be given this satisfaction again. He was determined to suffer in silence. Clinging to the thought that it had to be over soon, he tried to relax as good as possible to make the access for the man on top of him easier. Fighting against it would only make it even more painful. He prayed that they would leave him alone when the guy behind him was done with him. Clint didn’t dare to think about the possibility that, if he was unlucky, he had to endure two more rounds. Desperately, he dug his fingers into the ground and bit his lips till blood dropped. He had hoped that pain would distract him from the ache caused by his raper, but the hurt was too intensive and present to block it out with another one. After a couple of minutes, which for Clint felt like an eternity, the man thrust one last time deep into him and stayed still when he came inside him. It felt hot and sticky, and Clint fought against the urge to throw up. Pulling out his cock, the guard made Clint turn to face him and rasped: “Kiss me!” The archer didn’t avoid meeting his eyes. Instead, he stared disdainfully at him, spit right in the other man’s face and snarled: “Fuck you!” A punch made him fall to the ground.

A hard blow to his head brought Clint back to reality. He shivered and felt dirty, like what he had just imagined really had happened. A nauseating feeling spread from his stomach and raised up his throat. It took him a lot of effort to swallow down the bile. In- and exhaling deeply, he tried to get back his composure. Nothing had happened so far. Good. He wanted to keep it that way. _Okay, let’s analyze the situation_. He was locked in with three strong built lads circling him. Overpowering them seemed difficult, but he was an excellent fighter, so he considered it as at least not completely impossible. Anything else he should pay attention to? Oh hell, of course, he was handcuffed and had a broken finger. Well, that didn’t make the situation easier, but it wouldn’t keep him from defending himself. After stoushing these idiots, he wanted to put on one of the uniforms and dupe the guard in front of the door of his cell. In a pinch, he would send the guy also to the realm of sleep with an aimed hit. When he would have taken the first hurdle, he would blend in with all the other Hydra agents and fly the coop as soon as possible. His thoughts were very fast, and he finished his plan in a split second. He wouldn’t have had more time to reconsider it anyways, as he felt hands gliding up and down on his chest.

Taking the assailants by surprise, he jumped to his feet and kicked the first guy in the stomach. Swirling around, he put his handcuffs around the neck of the smallest of the men. Standing behind him, he pulled his hands in his direction to strangle the man who fidgeted and tugged on the cuffs. Unfortunately, being enfeebled by the last days, it took him too long, and he was torn away from his victim and hurled to the ground by the two other agents. He landed on his injured hand and stifled a moan in pain. Angrily, he picked himself up and went into a Muay Thai fighting stance in order to start another attack. As such martial artists do, he held up his hands higher than western boxers are used to do. So his hands were about at the height of his temples, keeping his elbows close to his ribs. Then he brought his feet in the right position. He lowered his chin and searched for the eyes of his next target. By the time, all his opponents had recovered and surrounded him, he stood perfectly in the Southpaw stance, which is the one for left handed people. As an ambidexter, he preferred this position as most fighters weren’t used to it, and that often turned out as a great benefit for him. For the first time, since he had been abducted, he felt good – like a proud combatant. Finally, he got a fair chance to defend himself. He was completely relaxed and formed his hands to loosely closed fists. A last time, he breathed in, not letting himself get worked up from the Hydra agents, which still circled him slowly. Even the smallest of the men topped him by approximately one head, but he didn’t bother. He knew how powerful Muay Thai hits could be, and that these men definitively wouldn’t leave the room without broken bones. For a moment, he wished he could wrap his hands to protect and support them, but he had to do it without and so he immediately drew his full attention back to the upcoming fight.

His first attack was aimed at the man in front of him. Quickly, he went a step forward with a shin kick, which he placed to one side of the man’s knees. His hit was successful, and the man went down screaming in pain. Good. That was easy. Now the other ones. Without a pause, he threw a combination of different kicks and punches at the man next to him. With a left hook, he aimed to the liver and then quickly changed the attacking level, throwing a jab to the face. Such variations in the area made it impossible for his victim to predict where he would attack next and therefore was a great advantage for him. The blows weren’t as powerful as Clint liked them to be, as his hands still were cuffed. Instead of one hand punching and the other one keeping up the defense, he had to go with two hands, which brought him slightly out of balance, slowed him down and made it possible for his adversary to injure him. However, the man didn’t seem to see his chance as he didn’t use this weak point for his gain. The experienced fighter was a little bit taken aback that he wasn’t countered. After all, his opponent wasn’t an ordinary criminal from street, but a Hydra agent. Anyways he didn’t care. If this idiot didn’t want to defend himself.. – Even better! Clint switched to elbow beats as good as it was possible with his constrained hands but soon decided to concentrate on kicks and hits with his shin bone and feet, which weren’t a handicap for him as they weren’t bound together.

Swirling around the men in acrobatic maneuvers, Clint showed off his extraordinary agility and loved the view of his confused opponents. He was completely in his element. Eventually, Clint wanted to finish the second Hydra agent with a knee strike aiming for the solar plexus but sensed a movement in his back. The third man had his fist high in the air to smash it on his head. Automatized from his training and because of his excellent reflexes, Clint raised his hands, easily blocked the hit and ducked away. Then he brought himself in a balanced position and went for a roundhouse kick. He stepped out, rotated his hip, hit the aggressor at the side of his ribcage with his shin bone and pivoted back on the ball of his foot in his defending position. The second man was done. Clint smiled. He was back.

Without pausing, he turned around to finally stoush the man who had surely a liver trauma by now. The coward pressed himself in a corner, hardly able to stand on his own feet. A regular jab, hitting him with his knuckles, would do. Unfortunately, he was too assured of success. Although the men had barely defended themselves, they were still trained agents, who were able to endure more than normal foes. Too late he realized how someone sneaked up, caught him from behind and held him in a tight body lock position. Normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem for Clint. He just had to create a hook, grab the man’s neck with one hand and put his other hand on the hip. And there occurred the issue. His hands were tied together. Throwing a punch with both hands felt weird, but was possible after all. Using this escape trick was simply impossible. Before he could use another strategy, his feet were dragged away by the second guy who stood up again. Without being able to keep himself on his feet, he hit the ground. Face first. Aww, that hurt and his nose started bleeding, but he didn’t complain as it was his embarrassing mistake. Every beginner learned in the first lesson not to show the opponent the back and to not underestimate the person. In his happiness of finally being able to fight against his imprisoners and the fact that it was so easy, he simply hadn’t taken enough precaution. Not losing time, he wanted to get up again, however, got a blow against his chest and fell back on the floor. Another violent hit followed. The man with the damaged knee couldn’t get up anymore but helped his comrades by holding Clint’s feet, while the other two pummeled him. Quickly, Clint curled into a little ball, his hands protective over his head, his jaw pressed on his chest. Only once he tried to lash out. For that, he had to open his secure position and paid his attempt with a hit to his nose, which made it bleed even more, but fortunately didn’t break it. Immediately, he rolled back into the fetal curl. The men went even more brutal, and he was kicked around like a football. A couple of seconds, he feared that he would lose his senses, what he had to avert in this situation, as he wouldn’t be able to keep up his defending position. And if this happened it could get life-threatening. With all his strength, he fought against the urge of his body to switch off and won his little inner fight. Concentrating solely on his breath, he let the attack wash over him and waited for it to stop.

They left him lying bleeding on the ground. His lips were chapped and swollen. Blood was running out of his mouth as well of his nose and gushed over his head. All over his body were wounds and colorful bruises, which covered the older fading ones. Everything hurt, especially when he moved, so he stayed as still as possible. He was convinced that at least one rib was partially fractured. Nevertheless, he was happy. Simply, because this was a hundred times better than the horror scenario he had imagined before. They could batter him as often as they wanted as long as they didn’t get physical with him in a sexual way. Maybe with time he even would learn their strengths and weaknesses, which would make it possible to be one step ahead and finally overwhelm his tormentors. All he had to do was to hang on and not give up. Like the woman had said: This was his strength, and he would use it. Obstreperous, he shouted a little bit slurred because of his injuries, but still as loud as he could in the direction of the door: “Yeah, cowards, better go gessomemore guys!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: “Better go gessomemore guys” - Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye, # 6


	19. What a mess

Chapter 19

Natasha insisted on searching her best friend after the phone call from the old lady, who turned out to be a neighbor of Clint, and no one disagreed. They all knew that, although Clint often appeared like he didn’t care for other peoples’ businesses, he was very loyal with a big heart. And despite him keeping it hidden very well, it still was existent. Never would he have left his beloved dog behind without making sure, that he would be alright.

For this reason, they drove to his apartment. Without hesitation, Tony broke the seal of the police and went in. Natasha and Steve followed him. Bruce stayed at the Tower and promised to keep an eye on the phone, to be able to answer it, in case Clint would get in touch with them. Of course Tony could have transferred the call easily on his smartphone, but as he realized how uncomfortable Banner felt by the thought of rummaging through the property of one of his colleagues, and that there might be a threat waiting for them that could lead to a fight right in the middle of a densely populated borough, he simply let go and accepted the doctor’s lame excuse for not joining them.

“Bloody hell!” Tony’s exclamation garnered a disapproving look of Steve. “Has there been a fight taken place or is this just Clint’s famous untidiness?” All over the floor were lying pizza and moving boxes, arrows, tools, a broken cup, clothes,.. Natasha shot him a slightly smiling look: “You know him. ‘Cleaning up is just a waste of time, and remember what happened the last time when I tried to organize my stuff..’,” she quoted Clint. “But I guess Lucky did his bit.” The fridge was open and in front of it were empty food packaging. All in all, the kitchen floor looked like a bomb had hit it, causing an explosion consisting of ketchup, BBQ sauce, the remains of ready meals, coffee powder and stuff that wasn’t identifiable anymore. A chair was knocked over. It seemed like the left behind dog had tried to jump on it to reach the faucet in the kitchen.

“Whatever, I can’t believe that he prefers to live here instead in the Avengers Tower,” went Tony on. “It’s so shabby. Nothing compared to the perfectly designed Tower. Well, the latter definitely had a good builder-owner.” Having said this, Tony coughed slightly affectedly and finally started having a closer look at Clint’s belongings.

“Stop bragging and help us finding a hint where Clint could be!” The Captain shouted out of the archer’s bedroom, where he just had a look into Clint’s nightstand, but couldn’t find anything but a Heckler and Koch P30 pistol and a couple of condoms which he quickly laid back.

“Holly shit, what’s that!” Tony’s surprised outcry made his companions drop everything and go to his rescue. Cap even forgot to complain about Tony’s wording. When they reached the kitchen, they found an astounded Tony staring and pointing at the wall with an open mouth without saying anything. Irritated Steve snarled at him: “That’s a corded telephone! Where is your problem, Tony?” “You said it: cord! I didn’t even know such things still exist today. But okay, to be fair, at least it hasn’t a rotary dial.” Before the dark haired man could go on making fun about Clint’s technique, Steve turned eye-rollingly his back on him, going on searching for clues about Clint’s whereabouts and reprimanded with a wagging finger: “Heck, stop being a jerk, make yourself useful, and don’t dare to say ‘language’!”

Tony imitated Steve silently by making faces, but then also went on with their work. However, he didn’t make it far. Like a little child that had just found his Easter basket, he exclaimed joyfully: “Water-resistant socks!” He picked up a sock from the sofa and one from the floor next to it and held it high in the air. “I always wanted to..” He sniffed and contorted his face in mock disgust. „..eww, know who buys such things“. Unseen, Steve sneaked up behind him and crossed his arms. “I gave them to him as a Christmas present.” Startled Tony whirled around and looked at the Captain, who now planted himself provocatively in front of him. It was one of those very rare moments, in which Tony didn’t know what to say. He was torn between a fit of laughter and disbelieve. To cover his speechlessness, he growled: “Never do that again, old man. You almost gave me a heart attack.” When Cap kept a straight face, Tony was happy that the Super Soldier serum didn’t give Steve the possibility of a death stare and continued: “So water-resistant socks, hmm..?” Steve shrugged his arms. “What? They are quite practicable. And the boy needs something decent to wear. Didn’t want to give him briefs at Christmas, as I wasn’t sure about his size..” Tony’s jaw dropped to the floor. Then he burst out into laughter: “Well you could have asked me for his clothing size, but if you only wanted to explicitly know his _‘size’,_ ” he emphasized the last word and wiggled with a brow, “then I couldn’t have helped you. ‘Cause that’s something I don’t wanna know.” Steve needed a moment to understand what Tony insinuated, blushed and threw angrily a pillow from the sofa in the direction of the billionaire, who giggling took cover behind a moving box.

Extremely pissed Natasha asked: “Boys, could you behave only once like grown-ups and help to search the apartment?” Tony and Steve looked at each other like little kids. They already had raised their hands to point at each other to shift the blame on their counterpart, but Natasha only shot a grim look at them, which made them fall silent.

For a while, they searched the room in quietness. The silence only was interrupted by Tony mumbling things like: “Oh god, I can’t believe how old everything is. Look at the telly. It’s antique. It must be from medieval, or no, I think it’s rather from the Romans..” Steve although found fault with some points, but in a different way than his colleague: “He really should get a wife to do the chores. He is not made to be a bachelor. Look at all the mess.” Natasha denied herself to comment that Cap’s sight was totally outdated and sexist, and answered instead: “Boys, show a little bit more respect. You are ransacking the home of a friend, not of a stranger.” She didn’t like to go through all the private stuff of Clint but didn’t see another way to find a trace of her friend. She went on defending him: “You know what he would say? He would say: ‘Shut up about my stuff. I know it’s a mess and it’s old and busted, but it’s mine’, and by the way, you have to admit it: the apartment itself is renovated perfectly.” She smiled at the thought of him and the imagination how he had turned the bedraggled shack into a cozy home. But soon the smile disappeared and was replaced by a sad and sorrowful expression on her face.

They looked at every inch of Clint’s apartment, but couldn’t find a sign of a fight, or a hint where Clint could have been gone. In the bathroom were a couple of bulk packs which contained dressing material. They were almost empty, but this wasn’t alarming as Clint always ran around with band-aids plastered all over him. Tony teased Steve that a truckload of bandages would have been a better Christmas present, and the blond only shook his head. He couldn’t say anything against it as Clint really seemed to attract injuries magically. It even was rather a weird look to see him without bandages. He really would be perfect for advertising band-aids. No one of the Avengers would have been astounded if Clint would have told them one day that he was sponsored by a medical company. So nothing unusual in that.

The only thing, which was suspicious, was the fact that Clint had left behind almost his complete BDU. Only one of his bows and a couple of arrows were missing – at least they assumed so as no one had an overview over Clint’s countless trick arrows. Why should he have left with only half of his gear? His wallet and his passport were also still in the house. So he went without proper equipment, money and identity card. They weren’t able to make head nor tail of it.

After a while, they apprehended that they wouldn’t find more information and left. On their way back, they made a stopover at the animal shelter to pick up Lucky. Never in their lives before, the three of them had seen such a sad looking dog. He suffered visibly from his master’s absence. They almost had the impression that the dog was crying, and everyone spent the drive in silence, dwelling on gloomy thoughts what could have happened to their friend.

* * *

Clint was sitting enchained on a chair. It seemed like Hydra had wrapped something long and rough around his whole body, which dug deep into his skin and hurt especially at the area where he had suffered a partially fractured rib. It made it hard to breathe as it was very tight around his chest and made him wheeze with every breath he took. The archer could only guess that it was a rope as he wore an opaque blindfold. So he was still absolutely helpless, but at the same time, a spark of hope inflamed inside of him. Rotting in a cold dungeon, not knowing what was going on and if they ever would come back, had strained his nerves. He hadn’t really cared for the injuries they had inflicted on him. Sure it hurt like hell, but he had experienced worse before, and although he was covered in wounds and bled profusely, he could reassure himself on the basis of those experiences that it wasn’t enough to hemorrhage to death. Instead, what really made him feel bad, was the moment when they had left him alone in his cell. Again he had been all on his own. Again, he could neither hear nor see anything. Again he had a lot of time to think and with the time passing by without anything happening, fears crept back into his mind. Soon he had been extremely terrified that they might let him almost starve again and wasn’t so sure if he would make it once more. It’s hardly surprising that he had suffered a panic attack from which he hoped no one would ever learn about. That’s why he had been even relieved when two Hydra agents had come back, had brought him to another room and had bound him there to a chair, although it almost had given him a heart attack when suddenly someone had touched him out of nowhere.

Clint was awaiting what would come next with hopes but also with fears. He had a bad feeling which he couldn’t specify, but he was a captive of Hydra - that was reason enough to have a bad feeling. If only he would know what they were up to do to him. They had told him that he had a mission, but after all what happened with the woman, he wasn’t sure if that was still the case. Clint tugged at his bond, which didn’t move an inch. Dammit. Those Hydra guys knew how to do good knots. Again he struggled against the ties but had no chance. Without warning, his head was flung to the left side and his right ear burnt unpleasantly. Apart from another heart attack, someone had given him a resounding slap. Hell, he couldn’t remember getting his ears boxed so often since he had been a child. In his adult life, he only met one person who liked to hurt him like that: the woman. Clint tensed and made himself ready for another attack. His full body kicked into awareness, and his hackles rose. Tilting his head, he tried to hear something. He still got 20% which he would use.. If he could.. Dang, there was absolutely nothing.. or no.. actually, there was something: The faint smell of perfume and – Clint sniffed – ewww there definitely was someone else who apparently never had heard about inventions like the shower or antiperspirant. From this information, Clint assumed that there were at least two persons with him: The woman and one Hydra agent.

Time passed by, but nothing happened. Still, Clint was tensed like a bow. He choked on the nasty comment, which he wanted to simply speak out loud into the room without knowing whether there still was someone or not, because a lump built in his throat. _“Dammit Clint, get ahold of yourself! Don’t be pathetic,”_ he told himself off, and just was able to stifle an outcry of surprise at the very last moment, when the woman suddenly snatched off his blindfold. Vexed about himself, his face darkened. Vhara seemed to misinterpret his expression: “Don’t look at me so grumpy. It’s your own fault that you’re sitting here.” As Clint was dazzled by the light, he wasn’t able to read everything she said from her lips, but what he read was enough anyways “It is your fault.” The words seemed to burn into his head and agonized him as he knew that it was the truth.

Before he could drown in self-pity, blows rained upon him, which he endured unrepiningly. He had it coming to him. How could a single person be so unbelievable stupid? _“Well, at least if it is October I don’t need makeup for Halloween. My face surely looks awesome. Just not sure whether I should go as a pro boxer or rather as rainbow fish with all those colors my face is covered in by now,”_ thought Clint sarcastically, his mind blending out the unjoyous situation as good as possible. He knew he should focus more. Should try to collect as much information as possible; should search for an escape possibility, but he had done all of this before, and to what result? Nothing. Nothing had worked, only made everything worse. He even didn’t have a clue if it really was October or if Christmas maybe already was over. Well, then he would have missed it again. Not that he had someone who would have been sad that he wasn’t here to celebrate it together, but still.. He was so tired of raising new hopes and having them shattered brutally short after it. The only reason he still was fighting was that he didn’t want to disappoint his former colleagues. On the other side, why should he care? Clint was torn. It would be so easy to give up. It really was tempting, so it wasn’t surprising that he was of two minds about it, with even a slightly bigger tendency of surrender. The chances that he would get out of here alive were almost zero. He was well aware of that and his defiant “I’ll-never-give-in-attitude”, and his will to attack the Hydra agents till he won the fight, were suddenly blown away. He was battle-weary and just wanted it to be over. But something held him back from doing so. Someone still needed him. He only couldn’t figure out who this “someone” was.

Pondering over it, Clint didn’t realize how his bonds were untightened. Only when someone dragged his chair away, and he found himself with a sprained spine on the ground, he turned his attention back to present. Reproachfully, he looked at the woman, complaining: “Hey, what’s the big idea?” He just was about getting up when he was pressed down on the earth again. “Don’t touch me, idiot!” Besides he never could stand it being touched by his abductors, this time made matters worse that it made him oddly uncomfortable feeling the hands of the man on him who almost.. Clint swallowed hard and blocked out the fact that he almost had been the victim of being raped by him. Without hearing it, he was aware that his own voice just had sounded too high-pitched. So he resolved to take care that it would be calmer and deeper the next time. _“Don’t show weakness,”_ he inculcated himself. “Okay, you had your fun now. But as the saying goes: Stop at the top, and leave on a high note. I don’t want to overstrain your ‘hospitality’. So if you would be so kind and take off the handcuffs..” Clint drawled the word “hospitality” and turned his back, on which his hands were fixed now, demonstratively to the woman and was pleased how coolly he sounded. Finally, he found back to his old “hot ice”-habits. Now he only had to dispel his tiredness and convince himself to go on, no matter how unlikely a happy ending was. Since he wasn’t exposed to the drug anymore, he slowly stopped behaving like a sissy. What he really felt inside didn’t count. Only what was visible on the outside was important.

Instead of an answer to his sassy comment, the woman dunked a cloth into a bowl with water and wrung it out. Holding it in front of the archer’s eyes, she asked: “You know what this is for?” Confused Clint tilted his head. “You want me to do your basis for you right now? Forget it, I haven’t even cleaned my own apartment for ages, and by god, it really would need..” Annoyed Vhara smacked the old rag right in the face of the kneeling man and pressed it on his nose and mouth. Clint backed off, but a firm grasp stopped him from getting rid of the wet thing on his face. For a moment, he and Vhara stared provocatively into each other eyes. Only seconds before Clint wouldn’t have been able to hold his breath any longer, she removed it and hissed: “No, douchebag, that’s not for cleaning houses, this is for wiping off sassiness. Ever heard of waterboarding?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: “Shut up about my stuff. I know it’s a mess […] and it’s old and busted, but it’s mine” – Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye, #6  
> Quote: “Remember what happened the last time when I tried to organize my stuff” -> have a look at Matt Fraction's Hawkeye #3


	20. About water games and a choice

Chapter 20

Clint didn’t react to the threat of the woman. Well, at least not physically. He simply went on sitting on the ground with a defiantly raised chin. On the inside, however, he shivered. Waterboarding! Hydra really didn’t treat victims with kid gloves, when it would be helpful for the organization. Not having the chance to brace himself, he was dragged to a water vat, which he, till now, hadn’t noticed. At the last moment, Clint managed to take a quick sniff before his head was pressed into the icy water. Working against the pressure against his head, he tried to fight his way out of the tub. The feeling he had had in the prison cell when the three male Hydra agents came too close to him, returned suddenly. It was the feeling that he had to fight, no matter how it would end. He had to try everything. If they really would torture him with waterboarding, they would put the cloth on his face again, but this time also let drop water on the rag. This didn’t sound really dangerous or bad, but it was. He would have to make it through extreme pain, and more frightening, he would have to undergo the sensation of drowning. - If he didn’t drown before.. Man, what were these Hydra guys doin’? Hadn’t they learned anything at Hydra-college or wherever they had been trained? Even they should know that a human couldn’t stay under water forever and that a dead prisoner was a useless prisoner.

Clint lashed out as good as possible and squirmed under the grip of the agent, who still pressed him under water. His broken rib hurt with every movement he did, but he didn’t care at all and didn’t let him be stopped by his injury. If it hadn't cost him valuable oxygen, he would have yelled that this wasn’t waterboarding. That what was done to him at the moment was only something that every kid did in the swimming pool. Albeit, kids usually didn’t deprive their chosen victim that long of air. Clint felt how he ran out of it and stopped moving to save oxygen.

Vhara watched with folded arms how the archer stopped his resistance. She waited a moment, gave a sign and let the man take a short breath before one of her assistants pressed him under water again. Playing with fears of other people was something she loved extremely, and she never met anyone before who wasn’t afraid of waterboarding. The pain, the dreadful experience of almost dying.. As Clint hadn’t behaved like a gentleman, he had to pay the price now. She would drag this little psycho game into length and enjoy every single minute.

When Clint’s head was tugged out of the water, he first gasped for air and then managed to shout an angry: “Up yours!” Being immediately dunked under water again, he choked on it, however, and inhaled water, which reddened from the blood that had dried on his face and was washed away now. His head turned into an unhealthy looking color, he had to cough, what was in his current situation not really a good thing to do, and fidgeted extremely distressed under the grip of the Hydra agent. He had to get out of the water. In horror, he thought about what was in store for him. Gosh, this only was the prelude, and he already panicked. How should he survive the real torture? He only knew too well that waterboarding didn’t only cause the feeling of being on the edge of life and death. It actually really was. The victim – _he_ \- had only the time he was able to exhale air. As soon as he would stop doing it, water would fill his lungs and cause them to collapse eventually. Dammit, sometimes having too much knowledge about such things – thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s training – wasn’t that good. Well, maybe he shouldn’t have cut the lesson, where they had been told how to get away from such an unpleasant situation..

Again, Vhara let Clint drag out of the vat. Although the man spat out the water, which he had swallowed up, contemptuously directly in front of her feet, she was satisfied. The archer didn’t look so confident anymore, and all she had to do was to go on with her little game. “I guess it’s time to strap you to the board and get the real fun started, don’t you think so, too, handsome?” Playfully, she traced his stony-faced features, tousled his hair and didn’t take the chuntered „Finally! Thought you wanna bore me to death with your silly face-down dunking” seriously. If she was good at something it was sensing fear, and this man was definitely afraid. Maliciously, she went on: “Can’t wait for the damage to your lungs,” she poked against his chest, “your brain,” her finger wandered up to his head and finally glided down his arms “and maybe even some more broken bones, can you?” Clint swallowed. He knew that the woman didn’t exaggerate. Even the possibility of broken bones was comprehensible, as it was typical for a waterboarding victim to struggle against the restraints in such a way that could cause serious self-inflicted injuries.

“For god’s sake, stop it Clint!” bawled he himself out in his thoughts. Hell, when he was asked about it during S.H.I.E.L.D. training units he never could remember the correct answers, but now, of course, everything was right down to the last detail in his brain. Great. It was not helpful at all to know what would happen soon to him if he wasn’t able to find a way out before. He had to play on time till he had a plan. But he couldn’t think of anything, and so only stated instead: “Get it on already, and stop bore me with things I already know!”

His unmoved statement caught Vhara by surprise. She had hoped that the man would give in and beg that she shouldn’t do it. Wouldn’t it have been awesome if he had pleaded for being injected the drug, just so she would spare him from waterboarding? But too bad he hadn’t. Now she had a problem, as she actually only wanted to see him panic a little and promise to do everything she wanted. Of course, she simply could have used the drug again, but that would have been only half the fun.. Still, she would have never really punished him with waterboarding. Although she was peeved with him, she still cared too much for him. Even highly trained persons could only last about fourteen seconds. Most people caved in before because they ran out of breath way earlier, and as a result of it, the water started flowing in. At that point, it was very dangerous that the victim drowned for real, and if it didn’t, it was quite likely that he or she was disabled afterward, or at least suffered extreme distress, even having psychological problems years after it happened. Well okay, “care for him” was maybe carrying things too far, but she still needed him for Hydra’s plan. Afterward, her interest in the douche and his health would, quite sure, vanish magically.. At least she hoped so. Why did she always have to develop feelings for guys which weren’t good for her?

“Hey, what are you waitin’ for?” Clint asked impatiently. “You’ve got everything you need. Water, a cloth, cuffs.. I’ve got better things to do than to wait till you are kind enough to torture me.” His way of talking wasn’t wise, and he was well aware of it, but he had to make the last days up, in which he had behaved way too weak. He wasn’t keen on impressing Hydra with his stamina with surviving waterboarding, but there was no way around it anyways, so he could either use this as a possibility to pretend like being cool or confirm Hydra’s assumption about him not being tough. He preferred the former.

By now, Vhara was astonished completely. Clint was really tough. Too bad, he had decided against her. To cover up the fact that he had managed to mess up her initial plan, she yanked him on his wet hair, tore out a couple of tufts of hair by doing so, and hissed: “Do you really think I’ll waste my time with such nonsense when I’ve got this?” She reached for the syringe, which she had already prepared in the morning. Astounded, she observed how the defiant gaze of Clint made way for a frightened look. _Should anyone make sense of this guy.. Wasn’t afraid of cruel torture, but of a simple syringe.. Pathetic!_ But good for her plans. She took her own sweet time when she flicked with her finger against the syringe to get the air out of it. While doing so, and pretending like she had to put all her concentration on that, she babbled rather in passing: “Wonder how your dog is doing. The last time I saw him, one of my men took care of him. Unfortunately, it was the one, who never has a pet longer than a week as he somehow always seems to do something wrong..”

Clint reared up. – Even almost made it up to his feet. “What have you bastards done to him? Keep Lucky out of it! That’s just something between you and me!“ He scowled. If these maniacs did lay a finger on his beloved pet, he would kill every single one of them without mercy.

Content Vhara noticed how upset Clint went by the thought of his pet being hurt. It wasn’t the strong humiliated reaction she had hoped she would get when she threatened him with waterboarding, but it was at least a hint of vulnerability. And for the fact that she actually didn’t have the stupid mutt in her grip as it had been already gone when she had sent her agents in Clint’s apartment to get it, it was a great reaction.

“What have you done to my dog?” Clint had trouble to say these words without yelling and had to pause after every word for a second before he was calm enough to proceed. The knowing smile of the woman made him only even more upset. He bristled with anger and had the feeling that he had to strangle the woman and shake her till she would stop smiling and let him be with his dog. But he couldn’t as he still hadn’t found a way to free himself. Gosh, he felt like a real loser who not only endangered himself but also everyone he loved. Oh, sometimes he hated himself so much.

Vhara had enough with Clint’s outburst and inserted the syringe with the transparent liquid into the man’s neck. With contentment, she heard the tormented groan. Her victim tried avoiding her, even ripped out the injection by doing so, but still didn’t get far. The woman had foreseen his attempt and had taken precautions. A slight nod was enough to give two of her agents the command to grasp Clint on his arms and shoulders, and hold him tight so he couldn’t get away anymore. She already was about to finally drive the needle into his skin, but had second thoughts. The imagination of Clint letting her do it voluntarily was still appealing and also it hadn’t work with the menace of torturing him, it might work with the threat of hurting his dog as he obviously was extremely protective of it.

A malicious grin hushed over her face when she bowed down slightly to the kneeling archer: “You have two options: Either you keep fighting us or you take the shot of your own accord.” Clint raised a brow: “Of course I do the former!” And as if to prove his words, he tried to get rid of the men behind him. Unperturbed, Vhara went on: “I haven’t finished yet: either you fight, we will still get you under control and additionally injure your mutt, or you behave, ask me nicely if I could be so kind to inject you the drug and, as a quid pro quo, we will spare the furball.”

Vhara laughed spitefully when she saw the scowling look her victim shot her. “Oh don’t look at me like that. I leave it up to you to choose. Wasn’t this something you always wanted to have? A choice?” Seeing how it worked behind his forehead, how he weighed his opportunities and how his defiant expression went with every second that passed more and more gloomy, made her enjoying the situation even more. Oh yes, there was nothing better than to have the whip hand over someone. Okay maybe being respected and therefore being followed by the other person by choice would have been nice. But she never would get that, so she had to command it. It’s as simple as that.

Grinning exchanging glances with the other Hydra agents, Vhara finally asked: “So how did you decide?” Actually she didn’t need to hear the answer as the body language of her captive was enough. His shoulders slumped and his head hung down, when he whispered with a raspy voice: “Give me the shot.”

Loving how the whole situation turned out, the woman wanted to drag it on before she would finally prick him, like she had done so often before. So she gave her staff a sign to let go of the man and to even free him from his handcuffs. Clint understood that she only did it to provoke him, to make this circumstances even more humiliating and harder to bear for him as she knew exactly that he wouldn’t get up and fight, although he could right now and would have loved to do it. She wanted him to submit himself “of his own free will” without the drugs, and he had no other choice than to do that.

A big lump built in his throat, but he swallowed it down and pressed through his lips: “Prick me already!” But the lady didn’t do it. Only shook her head so that her slight curls swayed gracefully around her head and said: “No, you have to ask me nicely.” Clint was seized with anger, but suppressed it to not endanger Lucky. So once more he swallowed and asked with an annoyed, but slightly unsteady voice: “Please, would you please inject me the liquid?” The woman didn’t move an inch and so Clint found himself compelled to add: “Please, I can’t do more than begging. I’m already kneeling in the dirt in front of you. Goddamn, what else do you want me to do?” The frustrated and at the same time desperate undertone was unmistakable, and with those words he tilted his head to one side to make it easier for the woman to reach the area she always used and waited for her reaction. It wasn’t a long time in coming, but to his surprise it was different than he had expected. There wasn’t a needle driven brutally into his skin, but instead there was a soft hand that stroked over his cheek and wiped the single tear away that had found its way out of his left eye without him noticing it. Astounded, he opened his eyes which he had closed to don’t have to watch the triumphing expressions on the Hydra members’ faces when he was turned into a slave, and saw how the syringe was held in front of his face. Understanding, what he was supposed to do, his eyes widened and he shook aghast his head, his lips forming a silent “God, please no!”. Despite of his silent protest, he reached with a trembling hand for the needle, and brushed accidently the fingers of the woman who kept holding it for a second, looking him deeply into his eyes before she let go. The touch and the glance caused a hot wave to flash through his body and combined with the knowledge of being defeated it made him feel terribly miserable.

Shaking like a leaf, Clint led the syringe to his neck. The uncontrolled tremor made him lose the needle, however, and it fell to the ground. Aghast, he quickly picked it up again and rammed it into his neck before the woman could get even madder about him and harm Lucky who was more for him than just a pet. Lucky was his friend. The only friend who would never judge him for anything he had done or would do in the future. And the only friend of whom he could be a hundred present sure to always stand on his side. He had been left behind so often, had been abandoned and backstabbed, but Lucky would never do this to him. Never!

Immediately, Clint had the impression of becoming weaker when he felt how the liquid was pumped into his body. With the syringe still being stuck in his neck, he slumped down feebly, only held up by the strong grasps of the two men behind him who had fettered him again as soon as he had finished his task. Unhappily, he waited that everything would go black, but to his amazement, it didn’t happen. After another minute had passed without him passing out, he looked up insecurely to Vhara, who stood there with her arms on her hips. Intimidatingly, she came closer. Too close for Clint’s liking. When she took the dreadful syringe, he felt her breath on his skin, which caused in him a sickening feeling. Swallowing hard, he listened, or rather read what the boss had to tell him: “That was the last shot. That you didn’t faint, means that your body doesn’t fight against the poison anymore. It has accepted it. Your body is mine, and soon your soul will follow it.”

The archer was terrified, but first and foremost confused. The last days he hadn’t been under the influence of the drug. There had been no effects. His mind had been free, and his body had done what he wanted. Being absolutely sure about that, he had been convinced that the vicious poison hadn’t been in his system anymore. Still, the woman claimed now that only that one shot had missed to bring him into subjection. Something about it was totally wrong; he only couldn’t figure out what. His thoughts were racing. Anxious, as he felt how his mind clouded and a thin layer of glass expanded to lock away his will and make sure that the commands of Hydra would stay, he tried to think even faster. At the same time, he knew that the only chance to free his will was to break through the mental glass wall again like he once already had done. But it was already too late. Within split seconds it had become thicker than it had been ever before. Still Clint had the feeling that there was something wrong. He just had to find the weak point, but despite concentrating on locating the flaw, he couldn’t find it. The fog, which he had combatted and vanquished so successfully, engulfed him again and was denser than ever before. It felt like he could notice everything only through thick cotton wool. Only with difficulties he was able to read what the boss told him and wished he hadn’t done it. However, at the same time, he couldn’t avert his gaze of her lips. “You obey me. - Only me. You will follow my orders, be at my beck and call, and bow to me. Repeat!”

First Clint jibbed to do it, but a wave of the implanted Hydra thoughts caught him and tore his defiance away. Still, he wasn’t willing to give in and struggled against it as good as he could. However, he soon had to give up his resistance and said in a dragging voice: “I’ll be at your beck and call, and bow down to you.” He felt sick and didn’t even make an attempt to hold back his stomach contents. When he finished throwing up, he let himself fall to the ground and curled into a little ball. Like so often in the bygone days, tears were glittering tellingly in his eyes, but also he belonged entirely to Vhara now, he still had enough of his own consciousness to have the want to forbid himself to cry, but his body didn’t obey him. Again he was taken aback over the cruelness of this special kind of brainwashing. There he was again, caught inside his body, which did what Vhara ordered, not what his actual owner, he, wanted.

Once more, he had to retch. There was nothing left what he could puke out, though. The last remains of what he had eaten had left his body already. To Clint’s disappointment, the influence of Hydra hadn’t left his body with it. Spittle dripped slowly down his mouth, but Clint didn’t bother to wipe it away. He was hers. The words echoed agonizingly in his head again and again. Depression and desolation seized him. Why should he care about how he looked like or about his health when he didn’t belong to himself anymore? It wasn’t up to him any longer to take care that everything was okay with his body. Maybe he would choke on his own puke if he had to barf once more, but even if.. That was none of his business from now on.

 


	21. Nicht dein Ernst?!

Chapter 21

Clint abandoned himself. Only once, he tried to do the same trick he had already used successfully to get rid of the fog and break through the wall of glass. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, it didn’t work once more. The woman had been right when she had told him that there was too much of the drug in his system by now. Tired he gave up. Since that moment he did everything as if remote-controlled, what he actually really was. When he was told to eat, he ate. Being told to drink, he drank, not caring if he was thirsty or not. He was told to do so, and although knowing that he didn’t need something to drink, his body carried out his duty. At first, he felt like a robot that did stupid things, and he had the desire to break out; to save himself, but soon this feeling disappeared. It wasn’t replaced by another one. There was simply nothing. Where in former days had been a very –albeit well hidden - emotional heart, was only a hole by now. Emptiness. As his body didn’t need his mind anymore, it deadened, only flared up weakly a couple of times in a helpless attempt to resist Hydra’s hostile takeover, but withered away eventually. Only an empty shell was left over of the once so pensive man.

A week passed by, in which the Hydra members made sure that Clint was absolutely under their influence. They had their fun with making the woman suggestions what she should let Clint do. Vhara disapproved when they wanted to give their victim a dress to make him “look fabulous”. Though, she silently agreed that her captive would kill the look when he would apply black or even white kohl liner. It was actually from the other agents also just a suggestion to humiliate Clint, but what did those idiots know about guyliner.. She was of the opinion that there were a few men who would suit it and that the archer would be one of those guys. However, she still forbade the agents to give him a kajal and put him into clothes for women. She was the only woman in this Hydra base, and the only dress she owned was a satin floor-length dress in a beautiful turquoise. It was strapless with a décolleté which looked alluringly, but not in a cheap way and was made to show off the collarbones. But the designer surely hadn’t had the broad shoulders of a male fighter in his mind. On top of the bust were countless tiny rhinestones, which were going down on one side to the small, an hourglass shaped waist. They glistened beautifully in the light. Sure, a buff man pressed into the elegant looking dress would look both funny and stupid. But first of all, he never would fit in - although he had lost some muscles - and would ruin her dress by trying to do so, and second, although she didn’t like to admit it, she still felt too much for him to humiliate him like this. But that didn’t keep her from approving with other basenesses. For example, she made him read her favorite poem “Love after Love” by Derek Walcott. For the “fun part”, he had to use a fake French-Canadian accent. And he did. Something in his heart hurt, when he recited the lines _“The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving […] You will love again the stranger who was your self […] Feast on your life.”_ It felt like it was sheer mockery, but the feeling didn’t stay long, as with every silly order a part of Clint’s own personality disappeared, till an emotionless toy soldier was left to do his duty.

* * *

 

On a Monday morning, Vhara realized that her boy was ready for his mission. His wounds healed, some of them were even already disappearing. And more important: he obeyed her to the letter. So she decided to do the next step and unveil the whole plan to him. With firm steps she went to his cell, let it be opened by the guard standing in front of it, and found Clint at the same spot in the exact position in which she had left him. “Follow me,” she commanded and already was on her way out, when the archer got up and did as she had called on him.

Having reached the room in which Clint and Vhara had met the first time, the archer knelt down and read the woman’s lips attentively: “We’ve already told you, why you are here: You will turn Vision in. As everyone knows, he has a very powerful gem in his forehead, which we need for bigger plans. The Soul Gem allows us to alter living and dead souls. Think about all the possibilities we will have..” Being lost in reverie, Vhara gazed into the distance. Shaking her head she gained back her concentration on her speech: “We will be able to let Red Skull return, and then we.. Whatever.” Vhara bit her lips angrily. She had told Clint more than she had intended. He didn’t need all those information to do his job. So she interrupted herself to get to the point.

They spent the next hours discussing possibilities how Clint could lure Vision in the clutches of Hydra, and how they could incapacitate him. It was a rather intricate affair. Vision’s “phasing ability”; to pass through walls or anything else he wanted, was a big problem, which they were – thanks to Clint’s knowledge – able to solve eventually. Clint often had trained with his former Avengers colleague and therefore knew exactly about the strengths and weaknesses of him. Vhara was relieved about all the valuable background information. Without Clint’s help they would maybe never have found a way to catch Vision, but now she was very optimistic that the plan would work. Happy about the progress, she rushed out of the room. She had to prepare everything and report on her success her superiors immediately. They would be pleased to hear the good news and be content with her.

 

Clint sat still on the chair when the woman was gone long ago. No one cared for him, and he hadn’t gotten an order to do something particular. Seeing three men, caused a strong but indefinable feeling inside him. Was it fear? Disgust? Disdain? He wasn’t sure. The hunch seemed to be far, far away and disappeared before he could realize the meaning of it.

The Hydra agents didn’t pay attention to him. They were engrossed in conversation. Only a couple of times Clint could sense peeks on him, which they shot him. This attracted the attention of the light brown haired man. Automatically, he started reading their lips, without really understanding what they were saying. “..kann es immer noch nicht glauben, dass das wirklich funktioniert. Das ist doch echt der Renner!“ The men laughed. Something in Clint’s mind tried to process what the words meant. With a vacant expression and slightly open mouth, Clint stared at them, not really looking intelligent by doing so. However, slowly the meaning sunk into his head: something had worked. Something of what the men had thought, never would work. “Schaut euch den Idioten an, wie er da auf dem Stuhl sitzt und stumpfsinnig zu uns rüber glotzt.” Clint came to realize that he just had been insulted by one of the agents, but as it wasn’t an order of his boss he didn’t react.

Suddenly, he was circled by the group. Sneeringly, one of them talked directly to him: “Oooch, bist du armer, kleiner Bogenschütze auf uns hereingefallen und glaubst wirklich, dass wir dich einer Gehirnwäsche unterzogen haben, obwohl wir dir nur Schlafmittel verabreicht haben?“ Fall for something. No Brainwashing. Only a soporific. What the hell did the man mean? “Ein paar leere Phrasen und zum Abschluss eine Kochsalzlösung anstelle des Schlafmittels, um einen tollen Effekt zu erzielen und schon warst du überzeugt davon, ein Gefangener in deinem eigenen Körper zu sein. Ist es nicht herrlich? Und so einfach!“ Grinning, the German turned to the other agents who also leered at him. Empty words? Hypertonic saline solution for the final shot instead of the tranquilizer? Pure delusion? Clint tried to make sense of the just stated. Thinking on his own felt weird. He hadn’t done it for days. - Only had reacted to external stimuli without scrutinizing them. The thought of being fooled pushed on the surface, but it was too fickle and disappeared before he could grab it and make sense out of it. The ugly man in front of his face continued to make comments at his expense, but Clint only “overheard” a couple of scraps of the conversation: _“Schmierentheater” – “menschliche Psyche; so einfach etwas vorzumachen” - “wie eine Art Placebo Effekt”_

Why where those guys telling him that everything was just a farce? That they only had made him believe that he was under their influence? That the liquid only was an ordinary sleep-inducing drug, to make him believe that he was drugged? That he never had been really brainwashed? That Vhara only had used a cheap psychological trick to make him think that he was her slave? Why? Clint tried to understand the meaning of it, but couldn’t as the fog inside his brain prevented him from really deliberating on the questions that had formed in his head.

Vhara came back good-tempered and locked Clint into his prison cell. The questions that had been caused by the three men threatened to slip away. Clint felt how he slowly turned back into a complete torpid state. Frantically, his imprisoned mind tried to clench on the statements. Instinctively, Clint knew it could save him. Save him? Was he in need to be saved? He was here to take orders from his boss. Everything was all right. Why did something in his mind say that he should be saved? Confused Clint closed his eyes, massaged his temples and made the attempt of finding something inside of his brain. First, there was nothing, but something forced him to dig deeper. _Fake – pure imagination of being brought to heel – not real_

Suddenly, Clint’s heart started racing, his eyes widened in shock, and he stumbled backward. Realization hit him like a truck. “Clint you utter…” His insult was drowned out by a loud, angry cry full of frustration. Having the need of letting off steam, he punched with his fists against the wall till his knuckles were bloodied up. It couldn’t be true! How could he fall for that?! Such a cheap attempt of bringing him to his heels. And he only found out about it because foolish agents made fun about him, not realizing that he spoke their language, and therefore was able to draw conclusions from it which finally broke the spell of the woman. Again he screamed in frustration before he slumped down, his head hiding in his arms. He was crushed. Everything he had endured – the raping, the humiliation, being injured – hadn’t been necessary. He could have simply stood up and walked away. He could have defended himself. It was a devastating insight.

By now, he saw crystal clear what the woman had done to him. She seriously considered him to have such a weak psyche that she didn’t even bother to really brainwash him, but instead just used an age-old psychological trick: imagination. With her words and the liquid as a mere prop, she had made him believe that he had no other choice than to follow her and he had bought into it without questioning. “Gosh, you are such a dummy!” A goofball for a goofball – well that fitted.. Into the anger about himself mixed shame. All at once, the silence of his cell was filled with hysterical laughter. Clint couldn’t hold it back and laughed and laughed like a man who turned mad. Only a real “genius” like him could fall for that. He gasped for air.. After quite a while, the last giggle subsided, and tears shimmered in his eyes. Angry, he wiped them away: “Stop sniveling, jerk!” He should be happy to not being any longer reliant on the woman, but still, he felt bad and desperately disappointed about himself. It took him some time to calm down and concentrate on pure facts without going crazy or scold himself.

So what had happened the last days? He had explained to his enemies how to abduct Vision. “Great! Well done!” he mock applauded himself sarcastically before he proceeded to reflect. Hydra was so crazy about his friend because of his Soul Stone, to have power over the living and the dead. Clint got stuck. Something was wrong. As far as he knew, Vision was the bearer of the Mind Stone, not the Soul Stone. How could Hydra come up with such a weird idea that the Mind Gem was actually the Soul Infinity Stone? Vaguely he remembered Vhara’s words: _„It’s said that there are six Infinity Stones. All of them are reported as appeared. All of them, but one: the Soul Gem. Did you never wonder why this one has never been found? Maybe it already is here, right under our nose, embedded in a forehead, and we are just fooled by S.H.I.E.L.D. and an android.”_ Could it really be? If it was true, he could make Vision bring back Pietro! Excited Clint jumped to his feet and paced back and forth. He could stop Pietro being dead. Bring him back to life! He would be able to rectify everything. Bring back Wanda’s brother! Moreover, he finally could thank the fast guy for his immense sacrifice.

As sudden as his high spirits appeared, as sudden it disappeared and made place for a rather depressed mood. Clint sank back on his knees, folding his hands in his lap. Hydra had to be wrong. If Vision indeed possessed the Soul Stone, he never would have made suffer all of them. Vision obviously had feelings for Wanda. So even if he didn’t care for Clint’s agonizing feeling of being responsible for the untimely passing of Quicksilver, which almost tore him apart inwardly and made him be short of sleep, he would care for Wanda’s fortune. Clint was convinced that Vision would have done everything to reunite her with her twin brother. No doubt. Hydra had to be wrong. But although their plans about the Soul Stone were useless, it still was extremely dangerous if they got their hands on an Infinity Stone. In the end, it didn’t matter which one it was. The archer was full of zest for action. He had to do something. The question only was “what”? Even if he made it out of the bunker, he still was somewhere deep in a forest or in the mountains. In the last days, he had gathered information about his whereabouts unwittingly while reading the lips of several agents, but they weren’t good enough to make a real statement about his current abode. Besides he wasn’t keen on running half naked through snow and ice. Actually, he would have done so, if he had a chance, but after contemplating seriously over that opportunity, he eighty-sixed it. This wasn’t the right way to warn Vision. No, he had to stay low and wait for a favorable occasion, and then he had to act spontaneously. That was something he was good in. “Okay Clint, improvising is the motto of the day. Make it work!”


	22. No details, please

Chapter 22

The little squad consisting of the woman, Clint and a couple of Hydra agents flew with one of the ultra-modern Quinjets towards New York. The archer would have felt a hundred times better if they had given him his gear like he had expected them to do. However, he had been wrong. Although he had explained them over and over again that he needed his electric arrows to incapacitate Vision, they had made clear that they never would give him his bow and arrows for his mission, and that he had to do it without any weapons. Clint was confused and moreover, he felt how his heart sunk a little bit. He had been looking forward to getting his beloved archery stuff, which would have made him feel much better, and now – although Hydra believed he was under their spell – they still didn’t trust him enough to give him his gear. Dammit. So his plan of shooting everyone down and hijacking the Quinjet went awry as well. Great. Why did never a single idea of him work? So instead of using his gear against those idiots, he stood there with a way too big Hoodie, which flapped on his – without his muscles – lean frame. It somehow was weird to wear something, to feel the fabric on the skin, after such a long time running around half-naked. If they had given him a stylish suit at least, or no, actually he just wanted his own stuff.

At the last moment, he stopped himself from flinching and snapping at the boss when she reached for his hearing aid to take it away again. It would have revealed that he was able to think on his own, and Clint wasn’t keen on screwing up everything. So he only nodded obediently when the woman once again inculcated him to follow her orders, before they landed and he was send away to do his duty.

* * *

 

Clint took a deep breath and left the Quinjet without looking back, where the woman stood and watched him walking towards the entrance of the famous Avengers Tower. He had hoped that he would feel better and safer with every step he strode away from the Jet, as he somehow came home. He headed toward a haven. However, he got slower and slower, his legs growing heavy. Finally, he stopped in front of the impressive glass door, uncertain if he really should enter the Tower and with it bring death and destruction into the building. His former colleagues didn’t deserve that. On the other side, he had to save his best friend, and he didn’t care that he was only a dog. Anyone who would have stated out that, immediately would have gotten an arrow into his head to stop such stupid thoughts. But where those thoughts really that stupid? Could he put the life of a dog against the life of Vision and with him maybe thousands of other lives? Doubt crept into his mind.

Before coming to a conclusion what to do, the door opened automatically. Apparently, Stark’s technique hadn’t already deleted him from the system, recognized him and let him in. Knowing on which level the Avengers usually stayed together at this time of day, he made a beeline for the lift, entered it and went up. The doors opened way too early. He still didn’t come to a conclusion. Biting his lips, he poked along with his head down around the corner, only to jump back startled. Tony, apparently informed by F.R.I.D.A.Y., had waited for him with crossed arms. Being lost in his gloomy thoughts, he almost bumped into the tall man. Not looking up, Clint murmured: “Sorry, Tony,” which caused the billionaire to raise a brow. Was that really the greatest sharpshooter known to man, standing in front of him, not greeting him, not making a silly comment,.. just walking into the Tower like he hadn’t been absent for over two months?

Untypical for Tony, but following an instinct, the dark haired man clasped Clint briefly in his arms, before he shouted loud: “Look who is here!” Vision passed through one of the walls with a happy smile and a frying pan with something in it that was faintly reminiscent of hotcake. “Wanda?” When he saw Clint, his smile turned into a disappointed expression: “Oh!” It hurt Clint, but he had it coming to him. “Sorry Vision, it’s just me,” he almost whispered without lifting his head. Again, Tony raised a brow. Clint just had excused himself twice within one minute. What happened to his wisecracking colleague?

Meanwhile, the whole team had gathered around them. Everyone hugged Clint, what he endured apathetically. Natasha broke the following awkward silence with the question that everyone weighed heavily on their minds: “Hey, where have you been so long? I was worried about you!” Uncertain, Clint looked at them, and suddenly everyone fired hundreds of questions at him about his whereabouts and so on. Not answering one of them, Clint left his staggered friends standing there, walking like it was a given to do so, to Tony’s minibar, which, by the way, was anything but “mini”. A short moment his hands hovered over some very expensive looking whiskey from 1963 with the label “The Balvenie 50 Year Old Single Malt Scotch Whiskey“ on it, but in the end, he only took a beer and let himself fall onto a couch. He was in the mood for getting drunk, in order to forget everything that had happened during the last days, but it wasn’t over yet, and he had to be careful with what he would do next. Not hearing the slightly disgruntled “What’s wrong with you man? You can’t simply disappear for weeks and then sneak into the Tower, killing my bar and ignoring us!” Clint only paid him attention for a second when he read the word "weeks" out of the corner of his eye, but continued sipping on his beer absentmindedly. So it had been "just" some weeks, not years, which he had spent in captivity. Well, it had felt longer..

When he felt the seat cushion next to him move, he admonished himself to pull himself together and looked up. Steve had taken place beside him with furrowed brow. “Clint, how are you? Why didn’t you keep in touch? We searched for you.” The thus addressed stared a moment at Steve’s lips, sorting his thoughts, finally scratched his head, forced a fake smile on his face and meant vaguely: “Errr.. I’ve been quite busy, y’know?” Apologetically, he shrugged.

Being less patient than Cap, Tony took Clint’s left hand, looked at the broken finger, which apparently hadn’t been treated by a doctor, and pushed up the sleeve of Clint’s Hoodie. Furiously, Clint evaded his grasp, spilling beer on the expensive carpet. “Hey, what d’ya think you’re doing?” Anger sparkled in his eyes. Instead of an answer everyone only stared at him. Quickly, Clint searched in his mind for a plausible explanation. He couldn’t endanger his undertaking. “I walked into a door. That, uh, proceeded to beat the hell out of me, okay?!” Folding his arms in a defiant gesture, he stared at his former team members, however still avoided eye contact. “Well, that definitely has been more than one door..,” spoke Tony out loud what everyone thought by the sight of Clint’s bruised face. Suddenly, awareness crossed the billionaire’s face, and his hand shot forward, clutching Clint’s jaw and lifting his head. Shocked by the behavior of his friend, which reminded him of how the Hydra agents had treated him when they came too close, Clint flailed around a little more than what was actually needed to get rid of the loose grip. Unimpressed, Tony asked with such a concerned tone that everyone was astounded that he could sound like that: “You don’t have problems with your eyes again, do you? You are wearing contact lenses!” Shit, Clint had known that they would realize that little detail, although he had tried to hide it by constantly looking on the ground – what wasn’t difficult as he really couldn’t look his friends into their eyes - but Hydra hadn’t believed him that this wouldn’t work. Well, Tony was – from an anatomical point of view – not that far away from his “problem zone”. His eyes worked, his brain was the one that always made trouble..

Finding new prevarications, Clint looked Tony directly into his eyes now, and his “No, no, just makin’ an experience, if I can enhance my vision even more with contacts” came a little bit too fast to be believable. Nevertheless, Clint was convinced that the boss, who listened to every word he said via a tiny microphone in his Hoodie, and watched everything through the contact lenses that contained a little camera, was applauding him for his lie. But Clint wasn’t happy. Since he had entered the Tower, he hadn’t said anything that was true. Only lies. Way too much lies. Inadvertently he sighed loud. “Clint, you can tell us what’s wrong with you.” Not being able to endure the sorrowful faces of his friends, which he just was about to betray, Clint jumped up agitatedly. Doing that, his sweater slipped out of place, making his inflamed bite wound and dozens of tiny injection sites visible on his neck. Seeing the shocked expressions of his friends, he quickly covered his neck again with the slightly too big Hoodie. Smiling wryly, he explained unasked: “Wanted to get just one jab, but those damn interns still have to practice a lot.” Bruce interjected warily: “Vaccinations aren’t injected into the neck.” “Yeah, as I said, they still have to learn a lot..” Clint trailed off and headed quickly off to the minibar to get another beer.

A heavy hand on his shoulder made him flinch startled. Almost choking on his beer, he slapped away the hand of Steve in a reflex. Nevertheless, the Captain still held him in a firm grip on his shoulders: “Clint, you are not telling us the truth. Why..” The archer cut him off with cracking voice: “Look, I just wanted to visit you guys, but if you haven’t missed me and just interrogate me like a criminal, I’ll go!” “Clint,” Natasha tried to interject softly, but the upset man simply went on: “Yes, I had a fight in a bar with some goons. That’s why I have a shiner and a couple of bruises. So what? Never got beaten up? Oh no, sorry, of course, you ‘mighty heroes’ don’t have to deal with such shit.” Clint realized how he talked himself into a rage and went on calmer: “It’s not my fault that those dummies at the hospital can’t get a simple immunization right, and before you ask: Yes, my wrists are grazed from handcuffs. They are along with the bite the result of a wonderful night with an extraordinary woman.” At the word “wonderful” he hesitated for a second, but no one seemed to observe it. “Not only Tony has quite a bit goin’ on in bed. Any more questions?” Provocatively, he stared at Cap, searching for the eyes of the buff man. As he had hoped, the fair-haired blushed, looked away and said: “No thanks. No details, please.”

A couple of hundred meters away, Vhara watched the scene on a monitor inside the Quinjet and laughed. First, she had been a little bit worried when all of the Avengers assailed Clint with so many questions, but her archer had had a good explanation for everything. A moment, she smiled at the thought of the night she had spent with him, and which he just had titled as “wonderful”, but soon, she pushed the tender feeling aside. Unlike the Avengers, she hadn’t missed the hesitation. However, she didn’t get mad about it, as the sight of Captain America with his blushing cheeks compensated for everything. So he really was such a prude? Rumors said he was still a virgin.. Hmm, that could be interesting in bed.. Being able to teach such a good looking guy everything from scratch just the way she wanted was an appealing thought. Although the imagination of it turned her on, she somehow missed something. Something that Clint had caused in her: There were no butterflies in her stomach when she thought about the Captain. She didn’t start grinning like a maniac when someone just mentioned his name. She knew she wouldn’t feel like coming home when they would met. Unlike Clint who had been exactely this before he had spurned her. Deep frown wrinkles showed on her forehead when she thought about that. “Concentration,” berated Vhara herself, only to burst into a giggle, as the camera showed her that Clint looked at the moment into the direction of Iron Man, who bit his lips and looked like he would actually love to ask some questions about the hot night which Clint just had mentioned. And right, the archer seemed to have the same impression as he stated rolling his eyes: “No Tony, I’m not telling you more about it.”

“No Tony, I’m not telling you more about it,” said Clint, and with a smile, he recognized Tony’s pout. Using the opportunity, he drew the attention to another topic: “So I only wanted to visit you. Have a look how things are goin’. And Tony? I’d love to train on the archery range.” “Sure thing, Hawk,” allowed Tony him to do so. “Where is your bow?” “Err.. forgot?” Clint ran his fingers through his hair. Crap! He had made a mistake. He only wanted to talk about something he was comfortable with. So the first thing he came up with was archery, but he hadn’t his gear with him. Again he cursed silently but got an unexpected rescue from Steve, who just rejoined the group. “Clint? Your dog Lucky..” Quickly, Clint interrupted him without waiting what the other man wanted to tell him: “Lucky? He’s fine! Everything is alright.” “Oh really? ‘Cause we’ve been informed that your dog is everything but ‘fine’,” Cap dug deeper. “We heard that no one took care of him for days, till he had been taken away by..” Clint flinched by the imagination that his dog had suffered because he wasn’t there and didn’t listen - or rather read Steve’s lips anymore. So Hydra really had come for his Pizzadog. Latest by now there was no doubt about it. A waving hand in front of his eyes brought him back to the conversation with his mates. Again, he invented quickly a story. With time it went easier to come up with lies: “I’ve been on holidays. My neighbor should have taken care of him. I’ll have to have a serious word with her.” Silently, he prayed that his colleagues wouldn’t ask more, as his construct of lies would give in immediately, which would mean that his beloved pet was as good as dead.

None of his friends believed one word of the last story Clint had told them. They already had their doubts about the other stories, but no one dared to ask for the truth, as all of them saw how his face went sad when Steve started the topic about his dog. Suddenly, the archer looked tired, and something in his eyes was almost pleading to not deepen that particular topic. So they let go for the moment. It was already very late in the night anyways. Bruce was the first to say good night, and soon the rest of them followed. With growing concern Natasha watched how Clint went again to the minibar, only waving his hand in a gesture that said “I don’t care” when Tony meant: “Now you owe me not only one beer for the bet.. Don’t drink up everything, leave me some alcohol!” “We talk tomorrow!” Natasha’s declaration sounded almost like a threat, but she was only worried about her friend. To be honest, she was even more worried since he appeared here with sunken cheeks, colorful hematomas all over his body and bad excuses than she had been the last weeks in which he had seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth.

Everyone was gone sleeping. Only Clint sat in a big leather armchair, rubbing his itching eyes and sipping on his fourth beer. He pondered. Somehow he had to lure Vision into the trap of Hydra this night. But how? And should he really do so? He was safe inside the Tower. His mates would defend him. All he had to do was smashing that damn microphone and throw away the contacts which pinched unpleasantly. Gosh, he wanted to get rid of this foreign objects in his eyes. First Hydra settled down in his brain and now in his eyes, too. Didn’t those guys have a spark of decency? Obviously, they never had heard anything about privacy.

Getting up, he wanted to search Tony’s collection for something with more alcoholic strength. Beer wasn’t enough today, and hadn’t there been a promising whiskey? Maybe he should give it a try. As old as it was, it surely would have an amazing flavor. Clint found a whiskey glass and poured the expensive liquid in, again already being immersed into his musing. Vision, who passed through the wall, made the decision what he should do next for him. Without thinking any longer, Clint asked: „Hey, can I talk to you?“ “Of course, Clint, what’s the matter?” wanted the android to know. Having a plan in his mind, Clint said: “Not here. Meet me in ten minutes on the roof?” When Vision nodded wonderingly, Clint grabbed the bottle with the whiskey, considered for a second if he should drink directly out of it, but then only topped up his glass instead, and went with the brimful glass to the elevator. He still was able to stop the insanity. He had ten minutes to make a decision. What should he do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: “Walked into a door. That, uh, proceeded to beat the hell out of me.” - Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye, #6


	23. Alea iacta est

Chapter 23

Clint was sitting on the edge of the roof of the Avengers Tower, his feet dangling down from the building, holding, despite Tony’s complaint, a glass of expensive whiskey in his unharmed hand. He let his gaze wander over the skyline of New York, enjoying the quiet and the fresh chill air on his skin. It could have been a wonderful moment. One of those rare times he was able to be at his favorite place, leaving all his worries far behind. Everything seemed to be so small from here. Not only the buildings, the cars, and the inhabitants shrank - his problems did as well. It was an awe-inspiring and lofty feeling to sit on such a high point of the city, having a stunning view over everything. All things went so small and insignificant. It felt absolutely liberating. No stress, no hustle and bustle.. - so peaceful.

Well, it used to be like that. Embittered Clint held up his glass, turning it in his hands like if he wanted to look at it from every side. Lost in thought, he stared into the golden liquid. He hated to defile his personal “holy ground”. In a way, it felt like he was just doing so. Taking a sip, he hoped that the beverage wouldn’t only warm him, but also dispel his worries. At least, he felt how he got drunk slowly, what was a good start for his wish.

Sensing a movement behind his back, he turned around and saw how Vision slowly floated closer with a curious quizzical look on his face. Clint’s gaze came to a rest on the Infinity Stone on the other man’s forehead. His mind, making compulsively the attempt to lighten the bad situation, made him contemplate a second if Vision sometimes used the stone as a flashlight to be able to read in bed at nights. But soon Clint dropped back into the same depressed mood as before, and he shot another look at Vision who stopped behind him, letting a distance of about five steps between the two of them. Even in this situation, Clint had automatically the words “Are you scared of heights, or what?” on the tip of his tongue to mock his colleague, but actually he wasn’t in the mood for his own talk. He turned back to face the skyline, being well aware that Vision was still standing with crossed arms behind him, waiting that he was told why they had a “date” on the roof.

Irresolute, the archer turned the glass in his hand to and fro again. Knowing that he had to make a decision, which he couldn’t delay anymore, he stared into the dark night which was illuminated by the thousands of lights of the apartments in the countless skyscrapers. He didn’t hear the slight cough of Vision and blended out how his team-mate tilted his head and slowly became impatient. Finally, he knew what he had to do. It wouldn’t be easy for him. It even terrified him, but he had already learned at a very young age that fear was the most powerful emotion, and was determined that he didn’t want to be stopped in anything because of fear. This time it wasn’t only something insignificant he would like to achieve, but was a little bit unsure if he really should and could do it. No, at this moment there was no other possibility than to overcome his anxiety. There was no other way out. If he wanted to save his friend, for whom he would do everything without hesitation, he had no other opportunity. His friend was always loyal to him and tried to protect him whenever he could. So it was up to him now to do exactly that although his mate might never understand it.

With an apologizing expression, he looked one last time at Vision. Turning away, he raised his glass like he wanted to bring out a toast and exclaimed sarcastically “Hail Hydra!” Then he took a last sip of the whiskey which burned in his throat, put down the glass next to him with slightly trembling hand, drew a deep breath, pushed off of the edge of the roof and jumped into the deepness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I haven’t ruined anyone’s day with this chap ;) But to say it with Natasha’s words: _“Where else am I gonna get a view like this? There’s worse ways to go.”_ And I think she’s right..  
>  Anyway, this is NOT the ending of the story. So if you are in shock, get a blanket, hope for the best, and please, stick to the story ;)


	24. Insights

“Good morning, boss, it’s 3 am..” “F.R.I.D.A.Y., are you nuts? Shut up and let me sleep!” Tony’s heart pounded like mad as he was torn from his deep sleep, but when he overcame the first shock, he simply turned around and buried his face in his pillow. What did he do to deserve such an AI? “Boss..” _Aww, not again._ “If you don’t shut up immediately, I will delete you and recreate Jarvis!” threatened the drowsy man his assistant. Suddenly, his blanket was ripped away from him, and he shivered. “Hey, when did I teach you to do that?” he asked genuinely confused and with still closed eyes. “Oh come on Stark, just because I am a ‘man out of time’ it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to pull a blanket away,” heard Tony Steve’s annoyed voice, who apparently had thought he would talk with him and not with his AI. _Come on, not him as well!_ Hastily, the billionaire grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around his body. “What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” Steve shot him a disapproving glance: “Your assistant informed me that she had been overwritten, that there had been a security breach and that Clint jumped down the roof, but you didn’t care and simply went on sleeping. I think that’s reason enough to be in your room.” Appalled, Tony asked: “F.R.I.D.A.Y. is it true? Why haven’t you said anything?” All of a sudden, he was wide awake, forgot to banter with Steve about the blanket, and didn’t wait for an answer from his AI. Just at the moment, when he was dressed completely the other Avengers turned up. Pure shock was written on their faces. They all had been informed by F.R.I.D.A.Y. that Clint seemed to have tried to commit suicide, but that he never reached the ground, as well as Vision, who tried to save him, didn’t. There was no trace of both of the men. It was a mystery where they got to.

Without losing time, Tony ordered: “Show me the video footage of the roof, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” “Boss, the cameras have been hacked. There is no footage from those cameras available. There are only videos from the cameras of the Towers around the Avengers Tower.” With that, the AI played said footage and although everyone knew what they would see, they still were shocked when Clint really jumped down the building. Horrified, Natasha clasped her hands over her mouth. Everyone held their breath when the archer went plunging down the earth and Vision didn’t hesitate a second and flew behind him. Suddenly, they disappeared. No matter which camera angle they watched, they were nowhere. It was an enigma what happened. All they knew was that they never made it to the ground, and therefore it was possible that they weren’t dead. It was this thought on which they clung to when they started their researches to find the missing men.

First of all, they decided to recapitulate the evening and began with what Clint had done first. They remembered how he walked straight to the bar and helped himself generously. So Natasha followed him there in the hope to put herself in his position. Lost in thought, she let her fingers glide over the wooden bar and stopped short. There were fresh scratches in the well-maintained wood. Tony wasn’t delighted when he learned about it and asked slightly pissed: “Gosh wasn’t the carpet enough? Did he really have to ruin my upscale bar as well? That’s Dalbergia! One of the most expensive woods in the world..”

_Desperate, Clint dashed away from his friends. He had to give them a sign. - A hint that he couldn’t talk openly. Only what? He was in the mood for getting drunk and hardly could concentrate. When he reached the bar, he finally had an idea. Quickly, he opened a beer bottle and pressed the crown cap into a shape which made it possible to scratch the word “help” into the hardwood. He was cautious to don’t look at what he was writing as the camera in his contact lenses would have shown it to Hydra, and he hoped that it, despite this handicap, still was readable. Actually, he wanted to write more. Give his friends exact details, but they approached him, and they better shouldn’t see what he did right now. Too big was the danger that they would ask him what he was doing. This careless question could blow his cover._

The Avengers had a closer look and made out a scrawly “help”. “Help,” muttered Tony under his breath. “Well, he definitely didn’t write it just for fun.” He sounded already reconciled. Being worried sick, Natasha snapped angrier than intended: “No shit, Sherlock!” Silently, they searched for more written clues, but couldn’t find any. So they sat down once more, to go on with looking back on what had happened during the night. There were a couple of suspicious things like the fact that he seemed to don’t care for his beloved dog, that he drunk way more than he usually did, and that he didn’t get his broken finger treated by a doctor whereas otherwise, he usually made such a fuss with his hands that they sometimes even teased him because of this habit. The strangest thing, however, was the fact that Clint had worn contact lenses. He didn’t need them with his exceptional vision, and they also had had the impression that he didn’t feel comfortable with them. “Do you believe him that he just was doing an experiment?” asked Sam doubtfully. With the exclamation: “Not a word!” turned Tony once more to his AI: “Redhead, zoom in on his eyes. Wanna have a better look at those contacts.” The AI did like it was told and added: “Boss, the contact lenses seem to contain some kind of microchip. It’s likely that they are cameras.”

_Clint stood in a bathroom, propped his hands on the sink, and looked at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t done that for a long time. To be precise, not since the incident with Loki and the nagging question how many innocent people he had killed. Back then, he simply hadn’t been able to bear his own reflection anymore, had erupted in anger when he had looked at himself and had smashed the mirror with his fist. Just when he had decided to buy a new one nevertheless, the incident with Quicksilver had happened, and he had given getting a new one a miss, although he had promised Stark to replace the broken one. He had known that he wouldn’t be able to look himself in the eyes. All he would find there was bitterness, sorrow, disappointment, and anger. When he moved into his little apartment, he had a mirror in the bathroom. It was small, old and on some parts tarnished. Wouldn’t he have been too lazy, he would have covered it with a sheet. But as he had been, he simply had avoided to look into it and had resolved to remove it someday._

_Sighing, Clint washed his hands and let cold water flow over his arteries. Still feeling somewhat restless inside, he decided to stretch out. It always helped to defeat nervousness, and this time wasn’t an exception. Much calmer and feeling at least a little bit less miserable, he took a small case and inserted the contact lenses with the camera, in the knowledge that he had to do it if he didn’t want to blow his cover. He wasn’t used to wear contacts and acted clumsily. But finally, he managed to insert them and had once more a long close look at himself with his sad eyes, wondering if he wasn’t the only one who stared at his mirror image right now and if it was the woman herself who watched him or just a nameless Hydra agent._

“In other words, we have been watched all the time Clint was here?“ concluded Bruce. Steve nodded. “Quite likely not only that. Did you notice the way too big sweater? The boy seems to be just skin and bones. It would have been easy to hide a microphone underneath the fabric.“ Tony chimed in: “Nowadays there are small devices which you can sew in. You don’t need big clothes to cover it up. But in one point you are right: he is alarmingly skinny indeed. Where the hell did he leave his muscles?”

_When the contact lenses fitted, Clint reached for the trousers, which were laid out ready for him and slipped in. They were quite loose and flapped around his legs. Although he tightened the belt as good as possible and used the last hole, he had the feeling that he would lose the pants any second. He grabbed the dark blue Hoodie and slipped it on. Clint liked the color of the Hoodie, but not what it contained. – And with the content, he meant both: himself and the hidden technical device to spy on his friends._

Tony requested his AI to analyze Clint’s state of health. „Boss, he has several bruises and a broken finger. Looks like he has been thrashed. But there are no defensive wounds visible.” Natasha raised an eyebrow skeptically and crossed her arms. That he shouldn’t have defended himself just made the whole situation even more mystifying. The program went on: “Furthermore, he seems to be malnourished.” Yes, they already had realized that..

_Clint lifted his Hoodie and let his hand glide over his maltreated body. His hipbones stuck out oddly. When he touched an especially painful part, he winced and let his pullover fall back into place. Thoroughly, he pulled the sleeves over his chafed wrists, so no one could see them and wished that he had a mask so that he could hide his face with the sharply protruding cheekbones as well. Some men looked sexy with such defined features, he, however, just had the feeling that he looked weird and ill like that._

„Okay, so we have to assume that he has been instrumentalized by someone. But by whom and why?“ asked Rhodey. Sam shook his head and was of the opinion that it had something to do with Hydra. He explained his suspicion like that: “Do you remember the moment before he jumped? It looked like he mouthed something. I’m not sure, but I have the feeling it is supposed to mean ‘Hail Hydra’ and then, he and Vision disappeared. Maybe he lured Vision into a trap and..” He was interrupted: “Are you saying that Clint was just like ‘Oh, Hydra is paying me more, so Barton let’s quit your job. Kill your family. Ready to comply, Hydra’? Are you seriously thinking that?” asked Natasha red with anger. Uneasy, Sam shrugged his shoulders: “You heard it yourself: He didn’t defend himself against whatever had attacked him. Maybe because it was part of a fraternity pledging, you know kind of a hazing, or whatever to prove his loyalty towards Hydra.” His voice trailed off, and it was evident that he wasn’t convinced by his own words, but simply couldn’t find another logical explanation. They rewatched the surveillance video and had to admit that Sam could be right, but Natasha still refused to believe that her best friend would be part of Hydra and so did the others. They simply couldn’t imagine that Clint would do that, and why should he ask for help if he deserted to the enemy?

“Nat, you know old school spy stuff. Did he use any of such tricks?” wanted Tony to know. The woman cerebrated, but shook her head eventually. “No. But his story about his vacation was weird. He said something about mountains to the north of New York, but he couldn’t tell us the exact name of the ski resort. Just somewhere where is snow. At the same time, he mentioned wonderful smelling grass. That doesn’t make any sense at all, but I guess he tried us to tell us the location without mentioning a name.”

_A blindfold was put on Clint. Someone grabbed him by his fettered hands and dragged him outside the bunker. Blind, he stumbled behind the man, trying to follow him without falling. Outside of the bunker, he took a deep breath of fresh air, which mixed with the resinous scent of conifers and grass, enjoyed the warming sunbeams on his skin and didn’t forget to memorize where they came from exactly. With the help of the position of the sun and the flight course, he wanted to ascertain where this hideout of HYDRA could be located. But maybe he could have it easier. So without ostentation, he asked casually: “So which way is it to town?” But he didn’t get an answer as no one heard him over the hellish noise the Quinjet made. Of course he didn’t hear it, but he felt the vibration of the soft ground, which he supposed to be a meadow, under his feet, and knew how extremely loud an old Quinjet model could be from close up. “At least it can’t ruin my ears,” he thought sarcastically and was dragged into the Jet._

“Okay so you think he is captured somewhere northern of New York?” asked Bruce. “That’s not really an exact localization,” he scratched his head and knit his brow. “Heimdall would be helpful..,” sighed Sam. “Well, unfortunately, neither he nor Thor is available..” Turning the attention back to their main topic, Tony wanted to know: “Something completely different, but what the hell did he do the whole time with his hands? That weren’t just simple stretching exercises, right?” Before F.R.I.D.A.Y. was able to provide an answer to her boss, Bruce righted his glasses and meant: “Well, I’m not an expert, but for me, it looked like he used ASL, more or less..”

_The archer noticed that his friends harbored the suspicion that something was wrong with him, but didn’t understand what. If only he could talk.. But of course! Talk! This was the solution! He admittedly couldn’t simply speak out loud what was going on, but he could use a language Hydra wasn’t able to understand. Taking heart, he formed his hands into the ASL signs for “help” “danger” and “bunker”. It hurt with his broken finger and therefore didn’t work so well. Besides, he couldn’t do the signs at the right body position as he run the risk of accidentally filming his hands. In the end, some of this stupid Hydra agents was able to understand it. He used his best endeavors to let it look like he just was fumbling around with his fingers. Getting gutsier, he even dared to sign a sign on the height of his head – at the place where it usually was signed. However, to play it safe, he quickly ran his fingers through his hair and pretended like he just wanted to scratch him on his head. Doubt crept in his mind if his former colleagues would ever be able to understand it, but he didn’t want to let anything untried and went on._

„Those are interesting news,“ said Steve when they found out with the help of the AI that Clint indeed had signed them something. It wasn’t much but better than nothing. Steve went on: “Anything else? Do you think the description of the woman is a pure invention or does it have a meaning?” Clint had left them so many hidden hints, that he was inclined to believe that that there was more behind it. Tony was of the same opinion: “F.R.I.D.A.Y., search for all documents and records about Hydra for women which apply to the description.”

_Clint looked at the man who was known as Iron Man and said “No Tony, I’m not telling you more about it,” but he realized his chance and pretended like he had changed his mind and wanted to boast with his squeeze. He described her right down to the last detail. That wasn’t actually that easy. Not only didn’t he want to think about her, but he had also to take care that the woman wouldn’t notice that he made a warrant of apprehension of her. He started breaking out in a sweat, but still went on in the hope that his colleagues would be smart enough to understand his hint, whilst the woman wouldn’t._

“There are two matches, boss,” were the Avengers informed. “Show it to us,” ordered Tony, and pictures of two hard-featured women were projected into the room. Additionally, they were provided information about the Hydra members. After a short study of both of them, Tony said: “Discard the left one. She’s already dead. Give me more information; no give me _every_ information you can find about the one which is left.”

The team decided to examine Clint’s apartment once more. They had a better idea what could have happened to him and hoped that they now would find something that they had missed as they hadn’t looked for it. Bruce and Tony wanted to do some calculations in the meantime, to find out where the hideout of Hydra could be. A plethora of data was feed in for doing so. The last steps of the woman were analyzed as well to create a movement profile of her. Clint’s description of mountains and Co were taken into account. Maps of old bunkers were sifted. Tony tried to get information with whom the archer phoned last. And so on. Everyone worked flat out. Some tried to make sense of the scarce hints, others searched for more hints. No one slept. But finally, Cap commanded that they should exactly do that as they all had problems to keep their eyes open. It simply didn’t make sense to go on like that. They needed a rest. Still, they protested against Steve’s decision, but soon everyone fell exhausted asleep anyway.

Tony was woken up by F.R.I.D.A.Y. who reported a match. As if stung by an adder, he jumped up to tell the others the good news. Just a few minutes later, they all were combat-ready in the Quinjet and took off. None of them knew whether it really was the right destination or just a dead end, and what would be in store for them. But they hoped devoutly that they were on the right track as they didn’t have another..


	25. Should I not have jumped? Cause I jumped!

Groaning with pain, Clint regained consciousness. Everything hurt. His skin felt like it was on fire. Disorientated, the former Avengers member raised his hands to have a look at them to find out what was going on but soon gave up this idea as the twinge in his limbs increased. What the hell had happened to him?

Still lying on the floor, he turned his head and looked around. There were old walls without windows and a heavy door. An extreme headache made him close his eyes again. For a couple of minutes, he didn’t move at all. - Just laid there, his breath becoming shallow, not even trying to fight the violent pain that ran through his body.

“Think Clint, think!” he finally motivated himself to figure out what had happened. He had memory and concentration deficits, but after a while, it dawned on him. The room was so familiar and the pain.. “Oh no!” aghast the archer gave a moan. Slowly, piece by piece, memories came back. A picture in which he was sitting quite drunk on a roof flashed in his mind and was followed by another in which he took a step willingly into the void. At this memory, Clint got sick, convulsed and threw up. When he finished, he spat out to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth and let himself fall back carefully from the kneeling position on his back. So the good news was that Hydra had not only caught Vison. Should he be thankful that they rescued him? That they didn’t let him die? Cheerlessly, he snorted. In old stories, someone whose life had been saved by someone else was in his/her debt a lifelong, but he definitely wouldn’t serve them forever. - All reputation and honor issues aside. He didn’t give a damn about that as long as it concerned Hydra. The only one he would owe all his life was a wonderful, cheeky young man, who left earth way too soon, only to save him, an old man, who simply wasn’t able to handle his own life.

His wounds smarted to be remembered and distracted him from the depressing thoughts about Wanda’s brother. The injuries weren’t the result of smashing on the ground. Oh no, if that would have happened there wouldn’t have been much left of him. When Hydra had caught Vision - who of course had used his flying ability to save Clint - as they had planned with a special box in which was a strong electrical field, Clint had also fallen into that box. However, unlike Vision, Clint hadn't been only paralyzed. The electricity had been too much for a normal human body. Heat had flashed through it, burning great parts of his skin and making him suffer several severe muscle contractions. Though, Clint hadn't noticed it as he had passed out almost instantly.

Vision! Suddenly, it hit the archer that he had committed treason. He started up imprudently. Agonizing pain ran through his whole body, but Clint didn’t wail. He had it coming. It was his punishment for what he had done, and he was willing to endure it. Still, he tried to ease the agony by cursing out loud. When he had decided to jump, he had been ready to die. He had been convinced that Hydra would let fall him down as they didn’t need him anymore. Being convinced that he would do the right thing, he had been ready to sacrifice himself. His plan was to fulfill the order of Hydra, as he had been entirely sure that Hydra never would be able to keep Vision in captivity. He had thought that the android might be incapacitated for a short moment but then overcome the trap and fight those goons. Vision would have competed with the few agents easily. Surely the rest of the team would have heard the fight and joined it. Later on, they would have freed his dog, and everyone would have been happy. “Would. Would. Would. Fuck it Clint! It’s way too much ‘would’!” Clint was angry about his naivety. “Never make plans again. You’re way too stupid for such complicated things. Aaaaaahhhh!” In his frustration he cried out loud, clenching his fists. Having lost control of himself, he wasn’t able to calm down. He screamed and screamed till he was hoarse and exhausted. The pain almost wasn’t bearable anymore. On his skin spread big blisters. Other parts of it peeled off. Over his arms, thighs and his chest ran burns, which were quite long, linear and almost looked like welts of a whip. His shoulders hadn’t been spared, too. But the burns looked differently. Almost like branches of a tree. Additionally, all over his body were scattered little dots, which were just superficial and didn’t go as deep as the other lesions. All in all, it was an extensive tissue damage. And on top of it, he had a hangover thanks to the whiskey. “At least it tasted good,” thought Clint embittered. Maybe it was his last meal and if so, it had been a good one. He didn’t deceive himself. Being well aware that Hydra didn’t have a use for him any longer, he knew that his time had come. It was weird anyway that they hadn’t let him die at the Tower. But sure they would catch up on it very soon.

“Why Vision? Why didn’t you make it against the technique?” Clint shook his head in sadness, only to bristle with anger immediately after it. “Are you laying the blame on him now? Yeah, that’s just like you!” he shouted enraged. A shy voice in his head answered reluctantly: „No, I just thought he would be stronger. I thought I could save everyone. I..” “Oh really?” Clint asked sarcastically. “Save them?” He creased his face into a scornful expression. “How? By killing them all? By endangering the whole world? Well done. Well done!” In his head, he mock applauded himself and was just about going on with his rant against himself, when he paused, lifted his head slightly and strained his ears. As he was deaf and without hearing aids, he actually wasn’t able to hear anything. And even if he could, he never would have been able to catch a sound through the soundproof walls. So thinking about it logically, he couldn’t hear anything. But still, he believed to hear agonized screams of Vision. They were far, far away and scarcely audible, but there was no mistaking that Vision, whose voice was filled with pain and rage, cursed him for what he had done.

Clint pressed his hands against his ears to silence Vision and his own remorseless voice in his mind. He was supported by the soft voice in his head, which begged to stop it. “Stop it? Oh no! You have to look at what you bastard has done!”  went his other voice on relentlessly. The severely injured man tossed and turned on the ground, not caring about the pain which he inflicted by doing so. He whispered: “Please. Please, stop! I didn’t want that. Please! …I just wanted to make things right,” and was shaken by anew muscle contractions which turned into an epileptic seizure.

Saliva dripped from his mouth and mixed with blood as he had bitten his tongue accidentally. When the fit was over, he breathed fitfully and kept lying on the ground. Suddenly, he was exhausted and pale. All he wanted was a nap. “A nap? You led your friends to certain death, and all you can think of is longing for a nap?!”

For a long time, Clint didn’t react to the reproachful voice in his head. Then he burst out into hysterical laughter, which was interrupted by his assertions that he just wanted the best for his friends. His voice went shrill when he stated: “As if I ever would have been good enough.” He stopped talking and continued giggling as if the attempt of him trying to do the right thing was a good joke. At the same time, however, he dashed away tears, which weren’t caused by his laughing and also not by the pain, but by the knowledge of having failed. Again.

Everyone who would have watched the whole scenery must have had the impression to witness a fit of a madman. And maybe Clint even turned into one. After all, what he had to endure, it simply got on top of the archer. He couldn’t cope with it anymore. He had been ready to sacrifice himself in the belief to save everyone else. He had put the lives of his friends over his own, but even that hadn’t been enough to save them. It was true: He simply wasn’t good enough.

Tears streamed over his face. The salty liquid burned on his injured skin. One last time he shouted furiously: “Pull yourself together, sissy!” Then he turned on his belly, pressed heavy panting his left cheek on the ground and allowed himself to enjoy the cooling effect of the floor.

After quite a while, he sat up with a lot of effort to doff the Hoodie, to be able to cool his burned upper body as well. However, he wasn’t able to get out of it. Also, his trousers were literarily glued on his legs. Where the strong electricity hadn’t caused tears and scorches on his clothes, it had melted the material and merged partially with his skin. In agony, he still tried to rip it off. It didn’t work, though. – Just increased the pain.

Already wanting to give up, having the wish to just lie there and die, suddenly out of nowhere a spark of boundless energy laid hold of him. He didn’t know where it came from but that he still was alive must have a reason. Maybe he still could fix it if he fought with the strength of despair. It was unlikely that he could turn everything into a happy ending, but as long as there was hope, he had to try it at least. Sure, his allusions, which he had made in the Avengers Tower to provide his friends hints, didn’t work. Otherwise, they would have rescued him long ago, but… Clint paused in his train of thought. Maybe they had come for Vision, but left him, the traitor, behind? He abandoned that idea out of his head. It was possible, but as long as he didn’t know what really had happened to Vision and his Pizza Dog he had to act like they still were in Hydra’s captivity. So he had to concentrate all his energy to help them.

The door opened, and someone entered, what Clint only realized when the person already stood directly above him. With an effort, he made out the words: “Well done, soldier!” on the lips of the woman. With all the strength he had left, Clint got up with the help of the wall next to him. Heavy panting, he supported his arms on his thighs. He gasped out with a rasping voice: “I’m not your soldier. Never will be!” With that, he straightened his back, raising his hands into the fighting position of a martial artist.

Astounded, Vhara raised her brow. She wasn’t afraid of the man in front of her who barely was able to stand on his own feet,. But the fact that he somehow wasn’t under her spell anymore was alarming indeed. Something seemed to go wrong. Whatever. The archer was obviously just about wasting his last resources, and she still had an ace up her sleeve. Unperturbed she came closer to the reeling man. With her fingertips of her left hand, she prodded against his chest. The slight pressure was already enough to let Clint stumble and fall down. When he hit the ground, touching big parts of his burn wounds, he squalled in pain, but got up again, nevertheless. “If you think that will stop me from fighting you, you are wrong!” pressed he through his lips, staring at her, holding her cool gaze.

When he hauled off to hit her, Vhara simply caught his arm midair. “You might want to consider the consequences of your actions,” she pointed out. Clint didn’t hesitate a second when he answered with the firmest voice he was able to produce: “They are considered!” “Amazing how stubborn you are. Stubborn and unbelievable stupid. I’ve never met someone as dumb as you are,” sneered Vhara as a reply. Grinning wryly, Clint shrugged his shoulders, contorted his face with pain for a second and meant apologetically: “My momma dropped me when I was a baby.” Not knowing what she should answer to that, Vhara simply warned Clint again that he better should reconsider his actions, but Clint only repeated his words as well adhering to the point that they were considered. “Well, if that’s the case, you assent to the killing of Vision and the usage of torture on your mutt?” Vhara spoke with a sly grin on her lips and emphasized her words by intensifying her grip around Clint’s arm. Physically it surely must hurt like hell, but Vhara was actually up to something else: she wanted to destroy the stubborn man emotionally and mentally. He had done the same to her. Had ripped her heart out of her breast and trampled on it. Now it was time for payback. Her smile went even more daunting, and she basked in the sight of the horrified archer. So delightful.

Shocked and at the same time furious, Clint exclaimed: “No, of course, I don’t consent! Don’t dare to lay a finger on them, or I will…” “Oh, I don’t think you are in the position to threaten me. But keep going behaving so impudent. The more you make me angry, the more I’ll let your friends suffer.“

Not knowing how to react, Clint watched, how the woman was about to leave his cell. His brain kind of emptied. He wanted to fight. Wanted to beat her up. But if he did so, his mates would pay for it. It was a god damned hopeless situation, in which he only could do one thing to ease the hard time his friends were going through because of him.

Without thinking twice, he threw himself in front of the feet of the young woman, stopping her from leaving the room. “Please, don’t hurt them. Please!” He hated to beg. On the other side, there wasn’t much of his dignity left anyway, and he owed it Vision and Lucky. From his kneeling position, he saw how the woman crossed her arms and said disdainfully: “Well, I told you to consider your actions. It’s too late now.” She pushed past him. Desperately, Clint reached for the legs of the boss, but she evaded his weak grasp. His anew pleading “Please, I’ll do everything you want. Take me, but let the others go! I’m yours!” made her smile. Yes, he was hers.


	26. Rather uncomfy

Two more days had passed since Clint had tried without success to commit himself to the woman in exchange of his friends. As the whole mess was his fault, he had been willing to do so without thinking twice. However, the boss wanted none of it. It seemed like she wasn’t interested in him anymore. Well, actually that wasn’t completely true. She had vowed vengeance, and she kept her promises. As announced, Clint suffered. Everyone of the Hydra agents, who wanted to get rid of aggressions, was allowed to wreak one’s anger on Clint, which had the effect that Clint was covered with innumerable bruises and injuries soon. His whole body ached extremely, as the pain of the hits he had to take was intensified by his sore, burned skin and he couldn’t tell if he, besides lacerations, had some broken bones as well. After a while, the pain increased so much that his body decided to shut down. Since that moment, he was barely conscious. Only when the woman ripped him out of the merciful darkness to torment him again, he regained consciousness. Every time that happened, he never pleaded to be spared but used the opportunity to beg for mercy for his friends before the agony overwhelmed him, and he passed out again.

Once, when the woman visited him again, she had a special “present” for her captive: A tiny bottle filled with a liquid. She sat down and dragged Clint, who didn’t reacted at all, half on her lap. Then she opened his left eye with her fingers, drizzled a few drops onto it and did the same with his right eye. Smiling viciously, she watched how the archer finally moved and tried to wipe the liquid out of his eyes. But it was too late. It already took effect. Weak but still hearable horrified the archer cried: “What have you done to my eyes?” and pressed his hands on them. They were burning and everywhere in his vision were suddenly black spots which grew till he couldn’t see anything at all anymore. Vhara laughed. She knew that the effect would only last a couple of hours, but her captive didn’t and surely would go through hell during this time believing that she had blinded him. Well, he hadn’t earned another treatment.

 

Clint didn’t care about him being tortured physically and - what was even worse – psychologically with words. Whenever he asked the woman to let his friends go, she only stated that she would let his friends go if he would have some. But Vision and Lucky surely weren’t his friends anymore after what he had done. She never got tired of reminding him that he was a traitor and a loser. Clint swallowed hard when she told him that, but didn’t contradict as on the one hand, she was absolutely right, and on the other hand, he didn’t want to endanger the situation for his former friends even more. He realized that this wasn’t about him anymore. Knowing that he and his life weren’t important and actually completely useless, he just cared about making amend for everything. If he died by doing so.. So what? During the last weeks, he had been so often on the edge of life and death. Till now he always had been lucky, although he wasn’t sure if it really was luck, or if it wouldn’t have been better another way.

Clint hadn’t a lot of time thinking about that. His body was too exhausted from being punched, and his mind also soon couldn’t take the scorn of the young lady anymore. When she visited him in his cell once again and told him that she was thankful that she wasn’t engaged with such a loser like him, and that a real man would have sacrificed himself for his comrades, he didn’t catch it anymore. On the one hand his eyes, like the rest of his face, were too swollen to open them to read her lips, and on the other hand, his brain was emptied. He breathed, his heart beat, blood was pumped through his veins, but that was it. Lying on the ground he waited that the pain subsided, but as it didn’t - never stopped, never disappeared - he simply kept waiting. There were only him and the pain. Nothing else. He lived in a world of permanent alternation of agony and darkness without knowing if it ever would stop and if he still was alive or if he already went to hell for what he had done.

Suddenly, Clint felt something cold on his skin, which was a new stimulus for a very long time, and therefore dragged him out of his semi-consciousness. But he wasn’t happy about breaking the cycle of pain and darkness as his mind seemed to remember that it had the function to think, which it started to do immediately. All the bad memories flooded his brain at once. It was too much for him. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Didn’t want to see the face of the woman again. Didn’t want to hear the taunting words of her. Desperately, he turned away, curling into a little ball. Additional, he tried to pull the hearing aid, which Vhara had given him when she had realized that he was too weak to read her lips, out of his ear. He rather wanted to hear nothing at all than to have to endure her voice any longer. He didn’t want to hear nor to see or feel anything. Just wanted to let got. Frustration spread inside of him when he didn’t manage to get rid of the device. Someone licking over his face made him freeze. Was the woman completely out of her mind now? Did she desire him again? Why didn’t she leave him alone? Or was it just one of her countless humiliations, with which she came up the last days? Although he had his eyes closed, Clint realized that someone had switched on the light. Afflicted, he squinted and opened his eyes very slowly and with a lot of effort. What he saw made tears dropping out of his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. Over him was a dog, standing there with a happy wagging tail and looking at him full of expectation. It was his dog. Lucky! Behind his furred friend stand Iron Man in his impressive armor. When Natasha entered the room, Clint pressed his eyes together. Why did his brain do this to him? Wasn’t it enough that he already was tortured by the woman? Did his own body have to plot against him as well? Why did his mind agonize him with illusions? Desperately, Clint groaned. It only could be a delusion. That was the only plausible explanation. How should the Avengers have been able to find him? His hints had been way too bad to make sense. They never would be able to find him with the help of them. Even if they could, they never would search for him, the traitor. Never. No one would put energy into finding someone like him and free him.

Being at the end of his tether, he whispered with raspy voice: “Please, please go away.” When that didn’t work, he rallied all his strength which was left and yelled as loud as he could: “Leave me the fuck alone!” In his desperation, he set his resolution not to recalibrate himself ever again at naught and was about to crawl to the wall next to him to hit his head against it till blood would stream down his face, till his brain was smashed and the cruel imagination would disappear. But he didn’t make it that far. The “illusion” turned out to be quite real, when it knelt down, preventing him from hurting himself. The face plate of the red-golden armor was tilted up, revealing Tony who looked concerned at him. “What a welcome! But sorry buddy, I’m going nowhere.” Holding Clint carefully in his strong arms, he turned around to Natasha who, at the sight of her best friend, stopped dead in tracks and leaned quite pale against the door now. “Back to the Quinjet! Clint needs medical attention immediately.” When Natasha didn’t react, just kept staring at the almost lifeless archer, Tony added an emphatic: “Quick!” and finally, she moved.

Clint couldn’t believe it. It really was Tony! He did come for him. Never would he have dreamed in his wildest dreams that one day he would be euphoric about being held tight in Iron Man’s arms. The whole scenery had something unreal for him. Especially the concerned look on the dark haired man surprised him. He never would get to see that soon again, and although he still couldn’t think clear, the mere presence of his colleagues gave him strength and hope. Them being there did him a world of good. Automatically, his body made him open his left eye slightly to enjoy the sight of Iron Man once more. If he had had to bet, he would have expected that Tony would beat the shit out of him. But this wasn’t the case. Almost affectionate and very gentle, Tony picked him up and talked comfortingly to him. Thank goodness it wasn’t Steve who held him like this in his arms, now even brushing caressingly a strand of hair out of his maltreated face. Not that Clint didn’t want to be saved by Captain America. If it was up to him, he wasn’t keen on being saved by anyone as it meant that he had messed up and needed support. But as he really needed help he didn’t make a difference who was his savior. Only if Cap had treated him like Tony just did, Tony never would have stopped laughing about it and telling the story to people, of course giving it intentionally a homoerotic touch.

While thinking that, he missed that they already were on their way out of the bunker. They left his personal hell for real! His heart jumped in pure joy and felt like it would burst out of his chest any second. Blissfully, he inhaled the fresh air and had a look into the wonderful blue sky. He could hardly believe his luck. His high spirits were dampened, however, when he remembered something. “Vision?” Clint wasn’t able to ask more with his feeble and hoarse voice and suffered a coughing fit. As if by command, Captain Rogers and Vision sprinted around the corner. The latter looked the worse for wear, but otherwise, he seemed to be all right. Clint breathed a sigh of relief. It took a load off his mind. Once more he tried to say something, but nobody heard him. And maybe it was better his way, as he – following his nature - wanted to wisecrack something like: “But you aren’t covered in bruises at all! I thought we would go in partner look! Damn, now I feel overdressed.”

They were all running to a Quinjet which waited not far away on the glade. As Clint didn’t get attention, he started to squirm in the arms of Tony and almost managed to fall down. “Hey, what are you doing genius?” Tony huffed and stopped running. The archer mouthed voiceless “dog” and the billionaire understood. “We have your dog. He is alright, okay? Everything is going to be alright,” he reassured him to calm down the shivering man in his hands. It worked. Clint’s face crossed a small but genuine smile. Falling back into old habits, the archer cracked a silly comment, although it cost him a lot of effort to press it through his chapped lips: “You should add a plush-function to your armor! You know, like this it’s rather uncomfy..” The reaction of the passionate tinkerer could be best described as a mixture of consternation, disapproval and being disconcerted. Clint bit his lip and lowered his head. How could he? He had betrayed his friends, endangered them and maybe even the whole world with his stupid, imprudent, selfish actions, and now he simply was cheeky as hell and behaved like nothing had happened? He should be happy that they came for him at all. Gosh, why couldn’t he behave for once?

It was Natasha who broke the silence with loud and hearable relieved laughter. The tension of the last days, which had wrecked him slowly, eased. “Yeah, a flying pink marshmallow in the sky.. It has a ring to it..” Tony pouted but hid a smile at the same time. Fascinated, like Clint would see it for the first time, he watched how his friends bickered and was aglow with happiness. Despite all, his family hadn’t let him down.

When they reached the Quinjet finally, Clint was placed carefully in one of the seats, in which he collapsed. Although meanwhile having a lot of practice in passing out, he still wasn’t able to break his fall to prevent himself from hitting the ground painfully before everything in front of his eyes was completely black. But again, buff male arms caught him carefully, when he almost fell off the chair. This time they were Steve’s. The Captain decided to simply drag Clint on his lap and hold him so he wouldn’t fall again. Everyone knew that the situation was serious. Even Tony denied himself to mock Steve by saying something like: “Aww, let me take a picture of you lovebirds. So cute. I didn’t know you swing that way, Cap.” Then Bruce gave the ok that the stretcher was ready, and Clint was placed on it cautiously.

At least Vision was all right, as Hydra indeed had been able to keep him in check inside the electrical field, but hadn’t been able to figure out how they could usurp the Infinity Stone, without turning down the electricity. They couldn’t do that as that would have meant that Vision would have been able to fight again. Wouldn’t Clint’s health status be so bad, the team would have made fun about the poor plan of Hydra. But at the moment everyone was only worried about their archer. They realized that they had underestimated the fettle of the archer who had made, with his chatter, the impression as if it just looked worse than it actually was. He seemed to be even more injured than they had thought on first sight. Sure he was bathed in blood when they had found him, but having severe exterior injuries didn’t necessarily mean that he also had internal injuries if they just were skin-deep. A small laceration also could bleed as hell without really being dangerous. However, everyone of them knew that Clint was a sturdy guy who never would pass out just because of a couple of scratches. So for the first time they took the time to have a closer look at him. Aghast, their breath caught at the sight of him: lacerations, gashes, bruises, broken bones, almost completely swollen shut eyes and face, and clothes that seemed to have melted into his skin. Natasha, who flew the Quinjet, put the pedal to the metal to get faster to New York. This really looked bad.


	27. Freeing Clint

_-One hour before_

As soon as the Avengers knew where their missing team members could probably be, they didn’t waste any time anymore and set off with a Quinjet.

Landing silently in stealth mode a little bit away from the place where they assumed to be Hydra’s hide-out, they had a quick briefing. Steve was of the opinion that it would be best to sneak in secretly somewhere through a back door and everyone agreed. Tony, also having the possibility of a stealth mode, made the vanguard to check out the area. His AI F.R.I.D.A.Y. helped him scanning the peaceful appearing scenery. “Guys, you have to see this. There is someone who has even fewer regards for lawn maintenance than Thor has,” let he the others who waited inside the jet know over the intercom. “I suppose it’s the doing of a mine,” went he on much more seriously.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., search the surrounding for more mines,” assigned he his assistant. “Boss, the whole area is mined.” Tony had already assumed that. Still, he cursed: “Dammit. Did you hear that? Cap? Natasha? You can’t go in like that. Rhodey and I have to clear the area first.” He fell silent and let his AI search for a weak point to get inside the bunker. Being informed that the bunker was very solid, lay mainly under the ground and was even built in large parts directly into the mountain massif, he pouted. Well, then they had to do it the brute way. “Guys, change of plan. I knock on the door.” Captain America wasn’t happy to hear that, but what else should they do. “Okay, do it, but first render the mines harmless, so that Natasha and I can join you, too.”

And that’s what they did. Iron Man and War Machine released the bombs by shooting at them with special projectiles. It simply was the easiest way to get rid of the dangerous explosives devices. Falcon did it his own way and simply dropped heavy rocks on them. Almost every second a new explosion was the result. Gras, earth, and stones flew through the air. The loud bangs resounded of the mountains and mingled as an echo with the sounds of new explosions. Of course, this infernal noise didn’t stay unnoticed. Countless Hydra soldiers rushed out of the bunker. Delighted Tony meant: “Oh how kind of them. They hold the door open for us, although I haven’t even knocked yet.” True to the motto “impudence wins“, he sped up and simply flew over the heads of the soldiers inside the bunker.

Meanwhile, Cap threw his shield and knocked out three agents at once. To catch his returning shield, he jumped off of his motorbike which sped driverless into a group of agents and exploded. He looked a short moment at the sorry remains of it and had to agree that Tony was right that his wastage of motorbikes was quite high, and that the way he used them as weapons could be the reason that no insurance wanted him as a client. Steve shrugged his shoulders and went on on foot. Another agent went down, hit by his shield. More and more soldiers came out of the bunker and Steve had to take cover behind his shield when they started shooting at him. “Tony? Where are all those guys coming from? Are there even more?” A hail of bullets glanced off of his shield, causing a hellish noise which made Tony’s reply hard to understand: “I don’t know. It’s a fucking labyrinth inside. It’s huge.. Wait a second.” A loud clash was hearable over the intercom, followed by a satisfied: “Hydra idiots paved his way.”

The situation outside heated up. Steve and Black Widow stood back to back and fought against a big group of Hydra soldiers which circled them at the same time. It looked worse than it actually was. They still had everything under control. Cap wielded his shield against an attacker. The Vibranium bounced off of the hit man, who slumped down. Steve caught it like a frisbee and threw it again. Natasha preferred to lead a hand-to-hand fight. At the same time, Falcon and War Machine did their best to entice the adversarial agents away from their circled colleagues and the entrance.

It was astounding how fast a peaceful landscape could be turned into a battlefield filled with explosions, a shrill alarm, screams of wounded and rattle of machine pistols. Through all this noise a slightly annoying voice tried to be heard over the intercom: “Hey guys, don’t want to disturb your little exercises outside. Heard sport in nature is supposed to be quite healthy, but if you don’t mind, stop playing and give me a helping hand inside. If you wanna find me, just follow the unconscious agents. All right, Hansel and Gretel?”

“Hansel and Gretel?” asked Cap perking his eyebrows up and disarmed his opponent. Natasha had just swirled her legs around an unlucky – or maybe not that unlucky (who knows..) – man and explained very relaxed as if she was sitting on a sofa instead on a struggling man: “I guess he means you and me. You know? Just like in the fairytale where they followed bread to find the way..” Steve punched someone with full force into the face: “I know. I’m old but not that old to don’t know the story. But seriously..?” He scowled when a giggle was hearable over the intercom and Tony laughed: “So you finally admit that you are old? ..Old man?” Cap getting annoyed rammed his shield against the solar plexus of a – at least concerning this matter – guiltless Hydra agent, watched how the man stumbled backward and slumped down eventually.

A cracking sound and static forewent Sam’s voice: “Well, I guess the old man,” he paused and suppressed a chuckle “and the young lady with the predilection for men’s necks can go in and join Tony. Rhodey and I have everything under control.” Like to prove his words, he landed on the ground and waited, protected by his wings as a head-high shield, a second till he was surrounded by five agents which approached him slowly with brandished guns. Then he stretched his metal wings, pushed off the ground and swirled and rotated elegantly on his own axis, hitting all of the men with his wings by doing so and knocking them out within seconds. Natasha, who wanted to avenge herself for the “young lady with predilection” meant dryly: “Sometimes I wonder who of us two took ballet classes.” Sam only grinned, took a bow in the air and flew to his next target.

Bruce, who stayed as always inside the Quinjet asked: “Hey, everything all right? What are you talking about? Do you need help?” Running towards the entrance of the bunker, Black Widow answered him: “No we don’t need the big guy. Stay back!” In passing, she checkmated three more agents and followed Steve inside the bunker.

For once, Tony hadn’t exaggerated when he said it was a maze. The corridors were low and only lit up by wan light. It constantly went slightly down. The walls were massive out of ferroconcrete and partly out of the solid rock. As she went deeper into the bunker, the noise of battle outside faded till it became silent completely. All in all, it seemed to be a very old bunker, but the rooms she passed during her search for Clint and Vision were furnished very modernly. She saw interesting inventions and Chitauri stuff lying around, which surely would have been worth a second look. Maybe they even should destroy all of it. But they hadn’t the time for it now. Despite the seemingly relaxed atmosphere, they all were highly concentrated and hadn’t forgotten what they came for. They had to hurry. Who knew what Hydra would do to the prisoners?

Steve was already deeper inside the bunker. Cautiously, he peered around a corner and drew back his head quickly. There had to be something behind the door in the next corridor. He counted ten agents who gathered around the shut door, barely having enough space for doing so. No doubt: he would find Vision or Clint, or maybe both of them behind it. First, he wanted to inform the others, but he didn’t get a reaction. Apparently, his device seemed to have an interference with reception down there. So he had to do it on his own. He clenched his fists, squared his shoulders, and threw a stun grenade into the crowd. When everything got foggy, he jumped out of his cover and started a fist fight. One of the agents grazed him with a knife at his left arm, but it was just a scratch. Could have been worse. Remembering that he already had fought against more people on even less ground, he hurried and dealt out blows as fast as possible. Soon he was surrounded by agents lying unconscious on the ground. Not losing time, Steve opened the door, rushed into the room and stopped dead in his tracks. His breath caught. A gruesome sight greeted him: Vision dangled – as if held up by an invisible hand - lifeless in the air and didn’t move or react at all. It seemed a little bit as if he had been hung. Only the rope around his neck was missing. There was electricity in the air and gave the captain the clue what was going on. There was a huge console to his left side with a lot of buttons and a couple of touch screens. Being at a loss, he stared at them and scratched helplessly his head. Not finding the off-switch for the huge machine that created an electrical field, that incapacitated Vision, he simply hammered with his shield on it, till it gave up the ghost. Like the solution to get rid of the mines, this way of solving the problem wasn’t elegant but effective and that was what counted. Vision plummeted, still not showing a sign of life, to the ground.

At the same time, somewhere else in the bunker, Tony did almost the same as the Super Soldier did. He just did it his way, using his repulsors to get rid of the guards in front a solid looking door. Not having a key, he simply melted the metal. Already wanting to kick against it, so it would fall loud clattering inside, he decided against it, as his colleague could sit behind it. So he grabbed it instead and yanked it off its hinges. Like Captain America had done just a couple of seconds ago, he held his breath at the sight that greeted him. Clint was lying on the ground, bathed in blood and didn’t move. Didn’t even lift his head by the noise he had made by breaking through the door. Suddenly, something furry pushed its way through his legs and licked over the face of the hopefully just unconscious man. Tony grumbled into his mic: “Who the hell let the dog out?” And didn’t care for Bruce’s crestfallen: “Sorry, I couldn’t hold Lucky back.”

Quickly, he went closer to the archer to check if his colleague was still alive and made a quick prayer that he was. “F.R.I.E.D.A.Y., check his body functions,” commanded he. But before he got a response, he already noticed a twitch around Clint’s eyes, followed by a groan and a cough.

Meanwhile, Natasha had found her way as well to Clint’s prison. It was just at the moment when Clint barely understandable begged: “Please, please go away.” And then cried desperately: “Leave me the fuck alone!”


	28. Delete my memory

When Clint awoke, he didn’t know that he had been put in an artificial coma for over a week and had gone through a couple of complicated operations. For him, it was like he had just taken a nap for a second. He felt worn out and miserable.

Not opening his eyes, he felt around. Something tugged unpleasantly on his right hand which he couldn’t relate to anything and which restricted his mobility. But he didn’t really care. He had felt enough anyway. The soft thing underneath him was definitely a mattress and over him was a cozy blanket. So no doubt, he was lying in a bed.

 _Oh god no. Please, no! Why?_ Clint felt how tears dared to flood his eyes. It only could mean that his rescue had been just a dream. Otherwise, he would fly with his friends towards New York right now. He really had been convinced to be safe, and still, he lay on the bed of the crazy woman and not on a hard stretcher in a safe Quinjet as his dream had made him believe.

Clint felt how a devastating wave consisting out of sadness, desperation, and resignation washed his last bit of hope he had clenched to away. It was time to accept that he never would make it out of his personal hell alive and he was angry with himself that he had allowed himself to dream about his and Vision's rescue. Why did he torment himself with this thought? Well, he knew the answer. He had wanted it to be true and it had felt so good. - Had been so damn realistic. It was almost like holidays from his agony. But unfortunately, holidays didn’t last forever and now, he was back. The brutal reality was already waiting for him, but he wasn’t ready to welcome it.

It was just a single tear that ran down his left cheek but it was enough to make the archer feel like his self was drowning in it. It was like his personality left his body with this teardrop. Panicky, he tried to hold on to a good memory of the past to keep at least a fragment of what defined him as a person. He just couldn’t find anything. Whenever a nice memory appeared, it had to do something with his friends. – His former friends: Their faces changed from laughing with him together to angry grimaces that accused him of being a traitor.

The marksman felt how he was on the edge of being broken and he knew exactly to what it would lead: He would turn into the guy Vhara wanted him to be: her toy soldier.

Clint couldn’t stand it any longer, and he didn’t want to try to endure it anymore as well. He didn’t want to have his old life back. Without his friends it was worthless. He just wanted to sleep forever. Still, and not really knowing why he did it as the reality was nowhere near as appealing as his dream, he opened his eyes tentatively. This tiny movement of the eyelids which people normally didn’t pay attention to took him an incredible amount of strength. And if he simply stayed in his make-believe world…? It was tempting, but no, as long as he was able to breathe, he had to do everything to free his friends.

Blinking, he tried to focus and get rid of the blurred vision and admonished himself to not letting him dragged down by his hate for not being able to see everything perfectly. Clint was well aware that he had other problems right now. It was just not so easy as the only thing that made him - in his eyes – special was his extraordinary vision and if it was taken away – albeit just temporarily – he usually freaked out. To his relief, he managed to do so finally and… Surprise!

Confused, Clint closed his eyes again, just to open them immediately once more. Was this another illusion? Another pipe dream? It seemed to be real, but his rescue had felt that way too, and despite it, he still was a captive of the woman. So how should what he saw be possible? Clint didn’t trust his mind anymore and just stared stock-still at what he saw: the Avengers gathering around his bed and looking at him curiously. The silence was broken by Natasha: “Clint!” was all she said and with this exclamation, she flung carefully round his neck.

Ouch, that hurt and was definitely real. Now, Clint was even more confused. He didn’t understand how he ended up in the sickroom. The last thing he could remember, and thought was just a dream, was him passing out, and – if he wasn’t completely wrong – being caught by Captain America and being placed on a stretcher. But even if this hadn’t been just an illusion, there only could be bygone a couple of minutes since this happened. So unless Tony hadn’t invented a possibility to create portals, the rapid change of locations didn’t make any sense at all.

Nevertheless, he smiled, wanting to believe that this was real, and even uttered a short laugh because of Tony greeting him with “Hey, hot stuff!” in an allusion to his countless burns, and because of Steve who shot the billionaire a furious look for doing so. Oh, he had missed those guys who bickered with each other constantly.

The archer couldn’t believe his luck. Despite all what happened, they didn’t let him down and even joked with him instead of rant and rave at him. This was too good to be true.

The happy faces of his friends made him forget about his doubts that this was real, though. The following feelings like thankfulness and happiness which seized him were overwhelming and he hadn’t been so happy for a long time.

However, his happiness disappeared at a moment’s notice when his gaze came to rest on Vision. Clint swallowed and looked quickly away. He wanted to say something but didn’t know what. He felt how his heart started pounding like mad and broke out in a cold sweat. Something started beeping and blinking. It was just the alarm for an irregular heart rate. Clint was monitored, and among other things, an electrocardiogram was taken. He couldn’t hear the warning signal, but he saw the flashing which drew his attention to all the medical equipment around him. Only now, he noticed all the cables which were connected with his body and ended in the vast numbers of devices or infusion bags. The sight of it stressed him even more.

Clint knew that his reaction was caused by his guilty conscience, but he couldn’t fight against the extreme distress he felt. Barely noticing how Bruce booted all of the Avengers out of the room, he gasped for air. Finally, realizing what caused the blinking, he ripped off the electrodes which were placed on his chest, so that the others couldn’t see anymore how bad he felt. But it was already too late. They were all gone.

Only Bruce, Doctor Cho, and the archer stayed in the room. Clint watched how the doctor drew a syringe up. In his mind, he knew that the woman only wanted to give him some painkillers or maybe even tranquilizer. But somehow at the same time, his mind started bending the reality. Or didn’t it do it? Was it just about showing him the truth again?

Clint couldn’t tell. The only thing he was able to think over and over again was “No! No more drugs!” Having decided to stick with the happier version in which he had been saved indeed, he tried to tell his own mind desperately that everything was all right; that Doctor Cho only wanted to help him, like she often had done before. However, he simply couldn’t calm himself. Pictures appeared in front of his eyes. Pictures, in which he was lying on a bed and a woman with an injection approached him. Doctor Cho’s friendly face distorted and changed into the face of another woman: A beautiful lady with green eyes, slightly curly red hair and a spiteful grin.

Clint bit his lips and contracted every muscle in his body, pressed his eyelids together and mumbled through gritted teeth: “This is just Doctor Cho. Just Cho. Cho..” But when he opened his eyes again, the scenery hadn’t changed. There was still a woman standing bend over him with a syringe with a transparent liquid. She came closer and closer, and the archer was convinced that she mouthed the words: “You are mine.” Clint couldn’t bear it any longer and thrashed about. His whole body ached by doing so and he saw stars in front of his eyes. But that didn’t stop him. He had to defend himself. Not believing he would have a chance, he still made an attempt to flee out of the bed. A firm grip on his shoulders held him back from doing so, however. The hands who pressed him down were shimmering slightly green. What?! What the hell was going on? Before Clint was able to figure it out, his hands and feet were fixed in padded chains. Panic-fueled, he jiggled and tugged at them. He felt how a liquid was pumped into a vein of his hand. Looking at it, he saw a venous cannula in which the woman just had injected the drug.

“No, please no!” His pleading was followed by the effortless try of ripping the cannula out of his hand.

A soft hand was placed on his, preventing him from getting rid of the needle, and the woman whispered: “It’s just for your best.”

Clint reared up within the limitations of his bonds and yelled at her: “You lie!” He wanted to add more but the world started to spin around him. Feebly, he fought against blacking out.

The last thing Clint did before getting too sleepy was shouting a long, loud and desperate “Noooooo!” The grip on his shoulders loosened. Rolling his eyes, Clint fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

One day later, Clint had composed himself and learned that Bruce had almost turned into the Hulk as he had been about attacking the both doctors. However, they had been able to sedate him. No matter how much Bruce tried to make Clint talk, the archer just stubbornly shook his head and refused to tell him anything.

As Bruce couldn’t be sure if his colleague would psych out again, he decided with a heavy heart to keep Clint restrained for his own and the archer’s safety. He really shouldn’t move too much. After all, he had a couple of broken ribs, a broken finger and shattered pelvis. A spinal cord injury in the lower back region was worrying, but, fortunately, it seemed to be just temporarily. At least the doctors were confident that Clint would reach “Grade E” soon, what meant that his neurologic function should return and he would heal completely. As his head had taken a lot of hits, he had next to a concussion, a partially fractured jaw as well – which Clint, by the way, used as an excuse not to have to talk with his colleagues. Then there were countless lacerations which had been stitched thoroughly, burns, and so on. The list of Clint’s injuries was long. Very long. And the fact that he was undernourished wasn’t conducive to the healing process. The worst part of it was the almost ruptured spleen. Only one wrong movement, just another kick against it, and the archer could have been dead. In an elaborate operation, they, fortunately, were able to fix it. Clint wasn’t allowed to do sport in the next time, but with a shattered pelvis, he surely had better things to do than running around anyway.

Another op which had taken three sessions, each of them taking several hours, was the removal of the clothes that had melted into Clint’s skin. At the most parts, they didn’t have another opportunity than to cut it out along with the dermis. Only thanks to Dr. Cho’s special treatment, which was able to reproduce skin, they could close the big wounds and spare the archer from extreme pain and huge scars. Everyone of the team of doctors had heaved a sigh of relief when they had replaced the last wound with the artificial skin from Dr. Cho’s machine. However, despite Clint’s skin looking like new – which it literally was –, the archer was constantly in pain as if the huge burns were still there. He didn’t say a word to his colleagues though as he didn’t want to look like a sissy and he also didn’t want to appear unthankful. Dr. Cho was very proud of having helped him so good and he didn’t want to ruin that by complaining about phantom pain. So whenever someone looked after him, he forced a fake smile on his lips which he lost immediately as soon as he was alone. It was replaced by a pain contorted expression and he caught himself trying to get rid of the clothes that had melted into his skin, although the Doctors had removed them completely, as he had constantly the impression that they still were there.

Having already learned as a kid how he to hide his true feelings and having turned this knowledge into master skills as an adult, no one noticed his struggling with phantom pain.

Even the doctors didn’t pay attention to Clint’s burn wounds anymore. They had been healed completely. That was the best result to get. The one surgery which tugged at Bruce’s heartstrings the most was actually - compared to the other ones - quite a simple one. They had to put in cast Clint’s broken finger. It already had started to heal, but unfortunately not like it should. The finger hadn’t been splint in a proper position during his time with Hydra and therefore healed out of alignment. So they had to break his finger again to make it possible that it could grow like it should, so Clint wouldn’t end up with a stiff or in another way useless finger. Everybody knew how bad the sturdy man would have reacted when they had to tell him that his hand wouldn’t be completely functional anymore.

Bruce experienced that once more, when he told Clint about his serious injuries and all the man responded unconcernedly was: “Thought you said I was hurt, doc… I didn’t even get a cold,” but got a look full of anxiety when they talked about his finger.

* * *

 

Clint was lying in bed with a clear mind and tugged on his chains. Gosh, why did everyone he met need to truss him up? Did he have a sign on his head _“Please, restrain me”_ , or what? Frustrated and bugged, he rolled his eyes but stopped it instantly when Steve sat down next to him with a stern expression on his face. The first Avenger called on him to tell him everything that had happened during his imprisonment. Yeay, he was given an order again. Also something he seemed to cause people to do as soon as they saw him. Great.

Stifling an angry snort – after all, they had saved him – he began to tell his story haltingly. However, he didn’t make it far. A movement in the corner of his eyes made him look up to the big glass panel in the wall to his right side. Vision stood with crossed arms and an unreadable expression behind it. The archer felt how his heart pace raised again. Turning his head to Vision, he started shouting desperately: “I’m sorry, Vision. Please, believe me! I know what I have done can’t be forgiven, but please take my apologizes!” Steve cleared his throat and laid consoling a hand on his shoulder. A sharp sting let Clint wince as it was like the Captain had put his hand on an open wound but Clint didn’t care and simply went on. Without thinking, words streamed out of his mouth: “I’m not good enough for the Avengers. Never have been.” Clint whispered the last sentence and lowered his head. After a short second, he went on louder again: “You guys can delete my memory. It doesn’t matter if someone else messes around with my brain once more. Then I will never again be able to endanger you. I promise you, I’ll go away and never again touch a bow. I..“

A firm grip drew his attention back to Steve. To Clint’s bafflement, the Captain seemed to suppress anger. He saw how the man next to him tensed and had clenched his fists instinctively. Endeavored calm, the blond stated: “We will continue our interlocution later.” With that, he got up and was about to leave the room. At the door, he turned around and said with sternness: “And I don’t want to hear such nonsense in my life ever again! Got that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: “Thought you said I was hurt, doc…”, Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye #1


	29. Not good enough?

In the afternoon of the same day, Clint got visitors again. This time Steve was accompanied by the whole Avengers team. Even Wanda, who had finished her quarter-year off, wasn’t absent anymore. Questioningly, Clint looked at the crowd in his room. It made him feel uncomfortable to see them all. Especially the sight of Vision still caused him to flinch. Although he tried, he couldn’t hold the look of him, and the eye contact with the others also didn’t last long. Self-conscious, he finally decided to stare on his blanket.

Concerned and at the same time curious, the Avengers watched the man who had band-aids and bandages all over him and looked so small - almost fragile. There was nothing left of the strong, muscular shape of him. It seemed like he almost disappeared under the blanket and the pillows. Everyone had rather the impression of looking at a young, insecure boy than at their tough colleague.

The archer was half sitting, half lying in his bed, feeling visibly uncomfortable. Nervously, he fiddled with the blanket and shirked from their looks. Obviously, he was afraid of the conversation they would lead with him now. Of course, there was no need to feel like that. They all were happy to have found him alive. In the Quinjet they had had a little shock moment and had thought that they had lost him when he had started to fantasize something about an evil angel and had stopped breathing for a couple of seconds short after it. He had been so pale with dark circles under his eyes. His muscles had disappeared. His body had been sunken and everywhere had been blood. Still, their friend had been strong enough and made it. But was it really their friend? Clint looked rather like a shadow of his former self.

Finally, Steve plucked up courage and explained: „I actually wanted to talk to you alone. You still need a great deal of rest. But the others..,” he turned and looked slightly disgruntled to Tony, Natasha, Vision, Bruce, Rhodey, Sam, and Wanda “..are of the opinion that they have a right to hear your story directly from you first hand, too.”

Clint shot them just a short, unsteady look, but made no move to speak. Vision sighed, stepped forward and demanded: “Just talk to us, Clint. We know that you have been abducted and you surely had your reasons for what you have done.” The archer still didn’t react. “Clint? Please look at me. We are convinced that Hydra didn’t leave you another choice. So we are not angry with you. Just tell us what happened so we can take measures, so something like that will never repeat when you are part of our team again.”

A smile flashed across Clint’s face, only to disappear like wiped off. He stammered: “You simply forgive me? Just like that? You aren’t mad or disappointed? But what I have done.. err.. I mean..” Tony interrupted the stammering: “Yeah pal, that wasn’t a nice thing to do, but you know why I’m personally not angry about you?” Clint looked at him with big eyes and shook his head. “Remember the first words you said to me when I found you barely alive and brutally beaten up? It wasn’t ‘go away’. It was ‘Please, don’t hurt my friends. I’ll do everything you want’,” explained Tony and added winking: “Oh and I want you back in the team because you have to work your debts off somehow. I just say over 50 years old very rare whiskey..”

Clint didn’t pay attention to the quip. He just thought about the first part of Tony’s speech. So that was why his former colleagues gained the impression that he wasn’t deserted to Hydra and had earned a second chance. Still, the injured man was baffled. In his eyes, he hadn’t earned it at all. Don’t get it wrong – he was happy about his friend’s willingness to forgive him, but deep inside he knew he hadn’t deserved it. It wasn’t understandable for him why the Avengers didn’t hate him and treated him that friendly instead. After all what had happened, even he felt abhorrence for himself. He had betrayed his friends. Vision could have died. If he could, he would run away from himself as he couldn’t stand himself anymore. He would never be able to forgive himself. So why should they still like him without even knowing why he had done all those abominable things. No, he didn’t deserve their forgiveness, and therefore felt bad, couldn’t accept their sympathy and had the feeling that he had to reject Vision’s offer to become a team member again. So he simply said, without reacting to Tony’s explanation: “I’m not good enough for the team anyway..”

Now, it was up to Steve interrupting him by clearing his throat and having a very stern expression, just like the last time he had talked to Clint. Shamefaced, the archer averted his eyes. But then he gathered all his courage and searched for Steve’s gaze. “I’m really neither of avail nor of value for your team anymore.. After all I’ve done.. And besides, I.. How should I be part of operations when I can’t.. I’m.. I am deaf,” he hemmed and hawed. Finally, it got out. However, the others reacted in Clint’s eyes weird:

Wanda asked him disappointed if he seriously thought that her brother had saved him, just so he could give up, and all the others didn’t seem to be bothered at all. They smiled! What the hell? Clint, didn’t know what hit him, went angry and yelled: “Why are you laughing at me? That’s not funny! Is it me or you how have problems with hearing? Haven’t you listened? I am deaf!”

Tony grinned: “C’mon birdie boy, don’t make such a fuss. When you almost blinded you didn’t even dream of quitting, and now you wanna pack it all in just because of a little bit of silence?” Slack-jawed, Clint read the billionaire’s words from his lips. “Hey don’t look like a carp. You really must think poorly of us, if you believe we wouldn’t find your hearing aid. I mean apart from being purple, it also seems to be from your granddad. It’s huge – just like your TV, and phone and stuff.. Anyway, there are way smaller ones nowadays..” Bruce interrupted his science buddy: “When we found it, I took the liberty of doing some tests. You have a hearing loss of 80 %.” “I know that,” Clint interjected harsher than he had intended, as he wanted them to stop talking about that topic. Tony with his big, imperturbable ego didn’t mind and went on explaining: “Yeah, while you’ve taken your beauty sleep, we have been busy and also found out how you’ve lost your hearing ability. It’s surely an interesting conversation starter at every party.”

No one detected how Clint flinched and shivered slightly at the word “beauty sleep”, as he had himself under control again quite quickly because he was distracted by Natasha’s questions: “You have to reveal two things: Why are you able to read lips, and how the hell did you learn that fast ASL? After all, it’s not an easy language.” Slightly clumsy, she lifted her index and middle finger to her forehead, placed them there for a moment, and following this, formed her fingers into a sign, which looked almost like the metal symbol with the only difference that the thumb was lifted as well.

Clint grinned: “Well, I guess I am a genius. And by the way: don’t forget about mimic and mouth morphemes. They are crucial, too.” After a short pause, he added still smiling and with a wink: “Oh and Natasha? Love you, too.”

Shaking their heads in disbelief, the others stared at him and caused Clint to laugh out loud. Then he got serious again: “Okay, okay, I’ve been deaf before.. That’s long time ago. S’just.. Well, I thought it’s not important to tell you as I healed completely, okay? I mean we all have our secrets, right?” Stubborn, he wanted to cross his arms in front of his chest but was held back by the chains.

The others didn’t say a word when they watched Clint struggling against his chains and accepted his statement for the moment. There were more important things to sort out right now. But before they would proceed to do that, Tony had something to get off his chest. Fleet-footed, he sashayed towards Clint, reached with exaggerated fuss for his pocket and pulled out a small packet. „Open it,“ he demanded and held it out to Clint.

Raising a brow, the archer tilted his head. „And how should I do that, genius?” With an expression that spoke volumes, he looked at his cuffed hands. “Oh err right.” As if F.R.I.D.A.Y. also wanted to point out the failure of her boss, although he already was aware of it, she stated: “Boss, he can’t take it.” Slightly huffish, Tony answered: “Yeah, I’ve just detected that, too.” Absentmindedly, he continued talking to his AI: “F.R.I.D.A.Y., why haven’t you already told me he can’t open it when I let it be wrapped?” The program replied: “I thought it was obvious, boss.” There was no holding back anymore. Everyone burst into laughter. First, Tony was angry and mumbled something about reprogramming, but soon joined in the giggling. The whole atmosphere relaxed, which did everybody good.

Wiping away tears from laughing, Tony finally opened the small present on his own, and two very tiny, purple colored, technical devices appeared. Turning to Doctor Banner, he asked: “Bruce could you..?” The thus addressed man knew what he had to do, and inserted the small pieces carefully into Clint’s ears. They fitted perfectly. Clint almost couldn’t feel them, but he noticed immediately a difference in his sensory perception. Tony just proceeded to explain to him that he had created special, customized hearing aids just for him, which were the best far and wide. Clint had to smile about the bragging of Tony, but he was right. It was no comparison to his hearing aids before. He heard everything crystal clear. Even the rustling of the tissue Natasha just had used didn’t escape him. The quality was amazing. He had the impression that he was able to hear even better than he could when he hadn’t damaged ear drums. Not being good at orating a speech of thanks, the archer just shot Tony once more a genuine thankful look, and decided that it was time to tell his friends what had happened:

It was no easy task for him, and from time to time he skipped parts when he was of the opinion that he hadn’t reacted tough enough in the particular situation. They didn’t need to know how weak and vulnerable he had been. That’s why he also at first didn’t want them to tell about him being “brainwashed”. However, he had to explain his inexcusable behavior. So sheepishly, he informed his colleagues about it. His face went bright red when he described how the “drug” worked and how he fell for a simple psychological trick.

“You should have undergone a therapy after the incident with ‘He-who-must-not-be-named’,” interrupted Natasha him upset. Willfully misunderstanding her, Clint asked pretended innocently: “I fought against Voldemort? When? Where? What did I miss?”

“Goofball, you know exactly of whom I’m speaking,” said Natasha with an annoyed tone, but her grin and her sparkling eyes revealed that she actually wasn’t angry at all.

Clint got serious again: “You’re right. When I go to a headshrinker..,” pretty nervously, he tugged on the sheet “..would you.. could I really be part of the team again, just like Vision said?” Holding his breath anxiously, he awaited an answer. Not keeping him any longer on tenterhooks in his uncertainty, Wanda grinned broadly: “Well, if you step through that door…” Meaningfully, she pointed behind her and added winking what her brother had used to say: “old man”.

If Clint would have had a hand free, he would have thrown a pillow against Wanda for being so cheeky, but as he hadn’t, he made do it with grinning from ear to ear and would have loved to jump up immediately to run through that damn door. He didn’t care if he had earned it to be an Avenger again or not. He just wanted his family back with all his heart.

It almost wasn’t possible to broaden the smile even more, but Clint managed to do so, when Bruce decided spontaneously to release him from his chains, with the apology that he hadn’t been sure if he defected to Hydra as he had behaved so strange when they had tried to help him. But now he was convinced that the old Clint was back and therefore no restraints necessary anymore.

Amazed and aglow with happiness the archer only managed to think one thing: “They have forgiven me, let me be part of the team again and trust me despite what happened.”

This was his first genuinely happy day since a long time. But would it stay like this? Clint wasn’t so sure about it. But if he was good at something, it was at blocking out problems. - So long, till they went so big that they could easily destroy everything that was important to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You think Clint is feeling better now? Well, wait for the next chap… ;)
> 
> For all of you, who want to know what Natasha signed: “Hawkeye, I love you.”  
> By the way, the index and middle finger on the forehead build the sign for “Hawkeye”. There are different ones, but as far as I know that one is the most common sign for him.  
> There are different ways to create a name in sign language (I’m not gonna explain them here now, but it’s pretty interesting, and it was a special day when I was given my own sign which from now on represents my name). Clint’s name is created with the help of the letter ‘H’. If you put your index and middle finger together and the other fingers away, you receive this letter. Now place it on your forehead. Et voilà, you have successfully signed “Hawkeye”.   
> Why on the forehead? Well, in the old comics Clint used to have a mask with a big “H” on the front. Nowadays, he doesn’t have this mask anymore, but he still wears from time to time a beanie with an “H” printed on it..  
> The next sign, which Natasha used, means “I love you”, and is created out of the letters “I” “L” and “Y”. Make a fist. If you lift your pinky now, you have the letter “I”. With lifting the thumb and index finger you receive the symbol for “L”, and the “Y” is created with the pinky and thumb.


	30. Oh shut up and talk!

Clint was on a good way to recovery during the following days, of which the others felt the effects as he started annoying them with his typical manner. Like a little kid, he grouched that he didn’t want to stay in bed any longer and that everything wasn’t that bad. Yeah… He had only been banged up pretty badly, but everything was alright. Sure…

The Avengers already knew this behavior from previous incidents, and still, it seemed like he acted out of character. Especially Bruce and Natasha had a suspicion that something was in a departure from convention. However, they couldn’t tell what it was. They just observed how Clint behaved like if he wanted to flee out of the sickbed. And it seemed that he had other reasons for doing so than being bored, as he persisted in saying. Besides, he behaved weird in the presence of women. Especially when Dr. Cho showed up. The poor woman didn’t understand what was going on and kept asking the team sadly what she had done wrong that the archer didn’t like her anymore. No one had an explanation. Tony just meant she would be hypersensitive and there was nothing. But Natasha knew that Helen was right as she herself faced Clint’s rejection to women. It was almost hostile. Of course, it had something to do with the “brainwashing” Clint had mentioned but he had been brainwashed by other people – solely men – before and still had never had problems with men in general. So why should he be afraid of women just because one had played her cruel mind games with him? There had to be more behind it.

 

This wasn’t the only odd occurrences that happened. Once, Bruce found Clint pressed into a corner of the sickroom breathing heavily and dripping with sweat. “Clint what are you doing?” he asked concerned. “You’re not supposed to get up!” A moment, the archer didn’t react at all. It seemed like he was far, far away with his thoughts. Then he shivered, obviously forced a fake smile on his lips and babbled something like: “Wanted to charge my smartphone. Thought there is an outlet”. His endeavor to give Bruce a logical explanation failed gloriously. First of all, his phone was lying along with the charger lead on the table next to his bed. Second: there was also a multiple socket. Third: no one with half a brain would get up by choice, enduring the insane pain which would be caused by weight bearing a shattered pelvis just to charge a phone. Not to mention the risk of becoming paralyzed because the spinal cord injury still needed time to heal and could be aggravated by every wrong movement.

When Bruce didn’t say anything, just looked askance at him and finally helped him back into the bed, Clint sent a prayer of thanks heavenwards. He wouldn’t have been ready to inform his colleague about the real reason – that he couldn’t abide staying in bed any longer, as it reminded him of the woman and what she had done to him. So he had gotten up and had been on his way to the bathroom to wash away her smell which he persuaded himself unconsciously to be still on his skin. Being too weak, though, he had slumped down in a corner and hid his face in his arms. His thoughts had revolved like so often before around the question if it was his own fault. Suddenly, he had had the idea that alcohol would do him good, and he had tried to get up to go get some. However, he hadn’t managed to do so. That was when Bruce found him and tucked him back into the so much abhorred bed. Biting his lip, Clint could prevent himself from protesting and giving himself away at the last moment.

To Clint’s displeasure, Bruce didn’t simply let go of the incident and went back with backup: again the whole team gathered in his room. Before anyone could say something, Clint raised his hands appeasingly: “Okay I haven’t told you everything, but can’t we just let it go?”

The straight faces of the people around him hammered home to him that they couldn’t. Sighing, Clint gave in: “Well I s’pose you have a right to hear the whole story. I will tell it, and I promise I’m not gonna skip anything this time. But please don’t ask me any questions, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, he went on before he would lose heart to do so: “There were those three agents. They were from Germany I guess.”

Describing every insignificant detail that came into his head concerning the men, he tried to play for time. He didn’t want to speak out loud what the others wanted to hear. However, he had promised to say everything, and he wasn’t keen on lying to his friends again anytime soon. He could be happy that they had forgiven him so easily. They surely wouldn’t do that a second time. So he couldn’t betray their trust right away.

He continued with his story, albeit very slowly. Haltingly and often searching for the right words, he told them of his bad suspicion of what those men had wanted to do to him. First, Clint was afraid that his friends would be disgusted by him or laugh at him, but quite the contrary: the horror was writ large on their faces, and you could hear a pin drop. Quickly, Clint assured them that he didn’t let it come to this, described his fight, and couldn’t help embellishing and euphemizing it slightly. The pent-up tension in the room disappeared, and Tony and Cap snorted scornfully and in unison about the bad fighting skills of the Hydra members. Finishing this part of his “adventure“, Clint heaved a sigh of relief. It felt like a weight was lifted from his mind. Natasha had been right when she had told him that talking could help sometimes, although she often chose to neglect her own advice. And she hadn’t been the only one to give him that advice which now turned out to be really good. Tony, as well as Wanda, had talked with him about the same:

One day, the billionaire had visited Clint to talk with him. Not mincing matters, he said as soon as he had closed the door and without greeting the archer: “Listen, I’ve also have been in need to be saved. Without help, I would have died, since then I haven’t been the same. I’ve also screwed things up pretty badly. Because of me a lot of people died, and I didn’t even care. Just party, party, party.. You aren’t proud of your behavior? Well, neither am I about mine. At least, you never behaved as reckless as I did. As far as I can see, you just did it to save lives.”

Clint who listened to Tony’s long and quite emotional monolog with tilted head and not knowing what to think of it, interrupted him: “Yeah, the life of a dog..” Vigorously, Tony disagreed: “No, the life of your friend.” Clint still didn’t seem to be convinced that what he did wasn’t that wrong.

The billionaire noticed it and tried it again, but a little bit different this time: “Look, after all, you’ve told us, your decisions are absolutely comprehensible. Everyone of us would have done the same.” The dark blond wanted to interject again, but Tony didn’t let him: “Don’t kick yourself for what happened. I know it’s hard to accept but try it. And if you need, talk to a psychologist.” The archer furrowed his brows: “Yeah, that’s what everyone keeps telling me, but no one of you ever did it. So how should you know that it helps? Plus I don’t want to be the loser who..” “Well arrow guy, if you consider someone who gets professional help as a loser, I can’t help you. I would call such a person rather as sage and reasonable – just like me.” Tony looked smilingly at Clint who stared at him with open mouth. “Are you trying to tell me that you..? A headshrinker?!” “Yepp” With that, Tony got up of the edge of the bed and knew better than to mention that he had just taken advantage of the fact that his science buddy Bruce never could say “no”. Being on his was out, he turned around, said: „You really should do it. Talk to someone,“ and left the room.

 

Short after that, Clint was disturbed again. It seemed like everyone of the Avengers had the need to talk to him and slowly one after another dared to visit him. Uneasy, Wanda stayed close to the door and toyed nervously with her bracelets. Not looking at him, she said with her typical slight Russian accent: “I had the feeling you doubt that you should be part of our team.” She fiddled around with her rings and didn’t look to him. “I just wanted to tell you that a lot of people wouldn’t be here without you. You kind of recruited us. So it would be a pity if you would leave us..” Her voice trailed off. A long silence followed, in which Clint seemed to really think about Wanda’s words, while she waited for a reply, feeling quite uncomfortable. Finally, he broke the awkward silence: “Yeah, but without me, your brother would be still alive.” “No, Clint! Without you, both of us – my brother and I - would be dead. You have given us a chance!” Wanda interrupted him upset. Clint shot her a look like he didn’t believe a single word what Wanda had told him. Turning even angrier, the girl shouted: “For god’s sake, Clint! Pietro’s death is not your fault. The incident with Loki is not your fault. I don’t know what happened recently to you, but I’m sure: It’s not your fault! Just shut up with your nonsense of being not good enough and talk to someone! It can’t be that difficult.” With that, she stormed out of the room.

***

Steve, as well as the other Avengers, was about leaving the room, as they thought Clint reached the end of his story and wanted him to leave a little bit alone. However, they were called back by the injured man, who sat with slumped shoulders on his bed. Clint only wanted to forget what happened, but memories of the incident tormented him every night, and he had vowed to say absolutely everything. If he wouldn’t, this dark secret would always stand between him and his colleagues. So he raised his voice once more: “Not only those goons tried to force me to do things I didn’t want to do.” He paused, started to say something, stopped talking and started anew. But his voice failed.

Compassionately, Natasha took his hand to comfort him, but he only slapped her hand away, not being able to endure the touch of a woman. – A red haired woman. Just like Vhara…

Vhara… Clint looked up and saw the woman that had tormented him for such a long time standing disappointed in front of him. He heard her asking: “What have I done wrong?” But the voice wasn’t hers. It was Natasha’s.

At the very last moment, Clint was able to suppress the upcoming feeling of panic, concentrating on his best friend’s voice and not on what he saw – or better said what his mind made him believe to see. Secretly, unseen from the others as most of his body was covered by a blanket, he punched against his pelvis. It wasn’t a forceful hit – actually it was just a slight nudge but having a shattered pelvis, it was enough to hurt like hell. And that was exactly what he had wanted. No, not because he was a glutton for punishment. He just hoped that the pain would distract him from his issue with confusing Nat with Vhara. And it worked. At least for the moment.

Having “solved” that problem, he wanted to go on telling the truth to get over it as soon as possible. However, he had no idea how and where to start. Finally, he decided to say it right out: “Tony.. Remember that you wanted to have some more details about the ‘hot’ night?” He trailed off, staring at his hands. The dark haired man raised a brow, but, as agreed, didn’t say anything. “The woman I slept with.. I didn’t want to.. Err I mean she made me.. I couldn’t do anything against it. She..” Clint hemmed and hawed, and fell silent eventually. His lip trembled and his left eyelid twitched nervously. He simply wasn’t capable of speaking out loud the word “rape”. Another person, however, didn’t have that problem. Aghast and wide-eyed Natasha panted out: “You’ve been raped?!”

Hearing it spoken out loud, it was even more unbearable, and it felt like a dagger stabbed his heart. Tears flooded Clint’s eyes. Almost not hearable, he whispered: “Yes.” Fruitlessly, he tried to blink back his tears and wiped them ashamed away, not looking at his friends, who didn’t know how to react to that disclosure. Steve drew in breath sharply. Rhodey, Vision, Wanda and Sam only stood there stone-still almost statuesque, while Tony’s, as well as Natasha's complete posture, suddenly displayed pure anger.

Clint misinterpreted their reaction. His mouth went dry, and he had to wet his lips before he was able to excuse himself with unsteady voice: “I know it’s my fault. I should have..” Natasha chipped in: “Shut up, Clint!” It sounded like a crack of a whip for the marksman. Uncomfortable, he ducked his head. Natasha noticed it and went on a little bit calmer: “It’s not your fault. Do you understand?”

“But I could have defended myself. She didn’t.. I wasn’t enchained when she…did it. At least the one time..”

“She raped you more than once?” Tony forgot his promise not to ask anything and made Clint flinch once more by the word “rape”. Again, his eyes welled up, but being strong, he dammed up his tears. Vaguely, he nodded and mumbled: „Sorta.. yes.” The image of the woman appeared in his mind. He almost could feel how her hands ran over his chest, going deeper and deeper till they reached.. A single tear rolled down his left cheek. Reliving the moment when the woman had touched him for the first time, he was caught in his memories and even heard the woman’s voice which had been way too soft with affection and told him that he was her boy. Screaming, Clint pressed his hands on his ears to make the sound stop. As it didn’t work, he ripped out his hearing aids and tossed them on the ground in a helpless attempt to silence the voice which, however, was only in his head and therefore couldn’t be stopped like this.

Shocked, the Avengers watched his outburst. After a while, Clint quietened down almost completely and struggled for air. Again he apologized: “Sorry. It’s fine. S’all fine. I’m okay.” He tried to minimize the incident. However, the following crying fit, which let his whole body shake, belied his words.

Putting his face into his hands, he made the ineffectual attempt to hide it from his friends. He was so ashamed. He felt bad because of what happened to him, but he even felt worse for his behavior. He couldn’t simply cry in front of his mates. It was supposed of him to be strong and unaffected like he always was. – Like _everyone_ of the team was. However, this pressure of not showing “weak” emotions and playing cool, made him just even more upset. He couldn’t calm down anymore.

In his desperation, he didn’t notice how his friends, with Bruce whose skin shimmered ominously green leading the way, left the room. He also didn’t feel the consoling hand on his shoulder which belonged to Natasha who was the only one who stayed.

Tentatively, not being sure if Clint could bear her touch or if it would make him feel just even more miserable, she drew her hand back and let it hover in the air. But the feeling of wanting to hold him in her arms and to comfort him went too overwhelming. Knowing that a hug might be too much for Clint, she stroked him only soothingly over his back. She knew every trick in the book and never let herself get worked up, but in this situation, she was completely overchallenged and suffered with her best friend. As every word, every encouragement seemed to be wrong, she sat down next to Clint and spent the rest of the day in silence with him, showing her best friend that she was always there for him whenever he needed her. As he didn’t send her away, she hoped her presence would do him good, although she was a woman and knew now why Clint had reacted rather unhappy when women were present.

The day passed by full of negative emotions. Not only Natasha had murder in her mind. Cap and Tony led a very angered conversation as well, in which both of them proclaimed that if they had known that before, they would have treated the Hydra agents differently. More violently. Without hesitation, they confirmed on oath to hunt down the woman, who had been the only one who escaped, and to avenge their friend. They would make her suffer.

* * *

 

Another week went by. Clint had agreed to talk to a professional psychiatrist and kept his promise. If he first had doubts if it would be a good idea to talk and think again about everything, this misgiving soon disappeared. Slowly, the Avengers could watch how their colleague felt visibly better.

Actually, that wasn’t the truth. Clint didn’t feel good but the fact that all his friends were around him made him want to be strong, so he told himself if he acted to be alright, he might be it one day in reality.

Suffering from disturbed sleep in which he was haunted by Vhara who humiliated and tortured him in his dreams, he wished profoundly to be able to sleep through the night. At least for one time, so he took secretly a sleeping pill. As it worked more or less and Clint was happy to be able to do his second favorite activity – after archery - again, he simply went on taking them. He was well aware that this wasn’t a durable solution but for the moment it did him good. So who cared?

Contented but also a little bit worried, the Avengers watched how their colleague regained his hearty appetite. – It was a little bit too hearty. Like a voracious hamster and despite his broken jaw, Clint ate everything that was within reach. Only because he had to stay in bed, their own food was safe from the archer. Natasha quipped if he wanted to build up fat reserves for bad times and was a little bit shocked when her best friend nodded very seriously with his head. But then Clint grinned and was able to convince her that it was just a joke. Natasha wasn’t so sure about it but let it go. Her friend just needed time. Everything would be alright. At least that was what she kept telling herself. And right, after already a short time, the first successes had become apparent: Clint’s unhealthy longing for hard liquor seemed to have ceased. He stopped asking for alcohol. If this wasn’t a good sign…

Much to his friend’s chagrin, Clint soon began to feel bored in his sickroom and grouched that he wanted to leave it. As they were happy that he apparently felt so much better, they didn’t say anything, however, and just smiled when he built hundreds of paper darts and trained shooting down a vase from a table which stood on the other side of the room. When he had the idea to combine the paper with a coin, he finally managed to reach his goal, and the water from the vase wasn’t the only thing that ended up on the ground. Everywhere was paper. It looked like it had snowed in his room.

***

One day, when he definitely couldn’t come up with other ideas what else he could do in his bed and also didn’t want to stay there a minute longer as he still felt uncomfortable in it, he grabbed his crutches, silently pushed the door handle, took a furtive look around and sneaked along the corridor. Determinedly, he headed for a particular room. Arriving there, he stole into it and took happily the microphone, which was connected to all loudspeakers in the tower, to muster his team. Yes, his team. They had made him the offer to come back, and after deliberating on it thoroughly, he had embraced it thankfully.

His smile broadened even more by the thought about what he would do in the next second. It was something he had always wanted to do, and finally, he had the chance. Pushing a button, he imitated Captain America’s voice and spoke into the mic:

“ **Avengers assemble!** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, we’ve almost reached the end of the story. There is only the epilog missing (written in Clint’s PoV), which I will post next week. Thanks for joining me on my little project. I hope you liked it and maybe we see us again at another project of mine :)


	31. Epilog

_-Clint PoV_

_Almost two years later_

Okay, this looks bad.. Nah, just kidding. Actually, life turns out to be pretty damn awesome. I’ve left the shitty part of my life behind. Long time I had a lot of doubts about everything: about my place within the Avengers, about my abilities, about me being good enough. I put myself as a person into question. But a little “bastard” – may God rest his soul – saved my life. My – as I was convinced back then – worthless life. So I got a second chance, and I tried to make the best out of it. I owed it to Pietro. – Still do. However, things didn’t turn out that well. My friends had to help me out of the mess I’ve had made. And guess what. They did. Despite I endangered and betrayed them. Even in times I wanted to give up, they have been there for me, and that’s why I love them even more than I’ve already always done before. Gosh, that almost sounds like I wanna marry them. But y’know that‘s what friends do. No! Not marrying each other. I mean being there for you when you are hard up. Seriously, what were you thinking?

All went down because I just concentrated on the negative sides of myself. And because I simply couldn’t accept myself for what I am - Had doubts if I was good enough for the others. I asked myself if I was as super as they are. I’ve learned now that this is not the question. My friends – my family – accept me as I am. With all my flaws. And I’ve got quite a lot. So what? I’m not ashamed of them anymore. My family taught me that I am an as valuable member of the team as Thor or Cap or anyone else is, no matter what other people say. You guys can make fun of me and underestimate me as an underpowered Avenger as often as you want. I don’t care. I know people who will always be unconditionally there for me, no matter what happens. Jealous?

The woman? Oh well, yeah she’s still outside somewhere. We haven’t found her yet. I dunno what happened to her. First, all I wanted was to avenge myself for what she has done to me. Wanted to see my arrows in her head. Or in her hands, so she could never ever again touch a man the way she did with me. But that wouldn’t change the past. Because that is what it is: The past. What happened, happened. Revenge won’t undo it. I’m over it – more or less. Actually, I’m even a little bit thankful. No, of course not for being tortured and humiliated. And also not for the sleepless nights, the nightmares, and the mental injury she inflicted on me and with which I have – to be honest –problems till today. But I am genuinely thankful for being given a chance to talk to my mates about my true feelings and sort things out. Was about time. Bottling up everything doesn’t work in the long run. I learned that now. What a pity my headshrinker isn’t here right now. He would be happy with me.

Although I don’t seek revenge anymore, honestly, I wouldn’t mind meeting the woman – _Vhara_ – once more. Just to show her what I’ve got and she will never have: a loving family. - An orphan with an extremely cool family. Awesome, isn’t it? And yeah okay, beating the shit out of her on this occasion would sure as hell feel good. Yeah, yeah, I know: You don’t beat a lady. But she definitely isn’t one. At least not judging by her behavior. So it’s okay I guess.. Uhh.. all right, maybe I’m not over the incident completely yet, but I’m working on it, and Cap just told me I’m doing good, which is a pretty damn awesome thing.. Y’know to receive praise from him means a lot to me.. But don’t tell anyone.

I may not be perfect. There are so many things I’ve done wrong and which I’ll never be able to make up for ever again. That’s why I turned my own life into hell for a long time. I’ve been convinced that I have to pay for it. And yes, I’ve to take over responsibility for it indeed, but still, I have the right to be happy. Everyone has that right.

I’m on my way to making peace with myself. Somehow it feels like I finally found out who I am. Or at least I’m on the right way to get there. Dammit, if I say it like this, it sounds stupid. Err.. I guess I’m still not good at expressing feelings, but my team wants me to work on it and, honestly, I want it, too. Who’d have thunk it? My goal is being an all-new, all-real Hawkeye. But I run off the topic. Where was I? …ah right, all I’m trying to express is that I arrived. I am where I belong, and I don’t need to hide behind my cheeky or tight-lipped mask anymore. I’m simply myself. All the time. And that’s a pretty damn awesome feeling.

Woah, I’ve just realized that I’m using “pretty damn awesome” quite a lot lately. But let me tell you if I say “This looks pretty damn awesome” I promise you, it actually feels even greater!

Maybe the bad guys still see only a loser, who fights with weapons from the Paleolithic era, in me. But I know it better. I know my powers and what I can do. And soon they will do so as well. They better should be aware. I’m coming for them, and I’m in company of some amazing people. We will take every single villain down. Preferably a red-haired witch named Vhara first. Um…okay forget that I’ve said I’m not seeking revenge anymore. I’ll always do. But I won’t let my life ruined by it any longer. That’s a difference.

My vote: With a family, you never walk alone. United we stand!

And now I’ll do what I can do best: Shoot.

Showtime!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, that’s it. Thanks for reading along and thanks for your lovely comments! – You know how much I appreciate them and how happy you make me with them :)  
> If you want to know how Clint managed to get such a positive attitude after all what happened, if he really is happy (or if he had just a good day for once) and if it will stay like this, or if his past might catch up with him and ruin his just gained zest for life…read part 2!  
> Okay, to be honest, it’s not written yet, but I’m working on it. It will be called “The Toy Soldier’s legacy” and will contain Clint’s (psychological) recovery time, some – okay, probably rather a lot - PTSD (after all he went through hell), an emotional roller coaster, flashbacks and time jumps (so don’t be sad that we skipped two years – it has a reason and there will definitely be insights to what happened to Clint during this time (well insights…it will be one of the main topics…)), emotional hurt/comfort, new Easter eggs (nothing better than seeing someone going as crazy about stuff like “hot ice” as I do it myself), Vhara will return and our favorite archer will find an ally and brainwash-buddy in Bucky when his world falls apart.  
> Would be happy to see you again! So long…  
> Oh and for the Easter egg hunters among you: yes, this epilog doesn’t only contain Easter eggs, it’s also by itself a huge one as it’s orientated on Hänsel’s closing words from the movie Witch Hunters. Watch it, it’s fun! And never forget: _Whatever you do, don’t eat the fucking candy._


End file.
